Tres Tria
by FireIce1
Summary: Everyone thinks they know the story of young Lord Voldemort. But maybe he didn't always have a lump of ice for a heart... all things change. Maybe he had to change. One event, one choice can shape the world. And this is where it all began...
1. A Beginning

Tres Tria 

By Fire&Ice

(1/?)

Email: Fire_and_ice_15@hotmail.com

Genre: General—a bit of everything, really!

Key Words: Tom Riddle; Three; Keep Reading

Rating: PG for later chapters (?)

Spoilers: All Four Books

Summary: Everyone thinks they know the story of young Lord Voldemort. But maybe he didn't always have a lump of ice for a heart… things change. Maybe he had to change. Maybe he was pushed. One event can shape the world's future. And this is where it all began…

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Promise.

Author's Note: Hi! This is our first co-written fic, and so we hope you like it! We are better known as Ginny J and Ravenclaw's Pride. If you want to AIM Ginny J, you can talk to her at Trillion86… I have *no idea* weather Ravenclaw's Pride wants me to put down her AOL IM name, so I won't. For anyone who cares, Ravenclaw's Pride is a teenage American girl with a lot of spare time, and Ginny J is, likewise, a teenage "London gel" (innit) with an equal amount of spare time. Happy days. No… please read our fic and, if you have a spare moment, leave a review?

~*~

  
_          Not everything is what it appears to be. Just because you may think you know something doesn't mean you do. Ahh, thinking and knowing for sure are two very different things, my friend. _

_          There is no such thing as a starting point. There is no such thing as an ending. This is neither the start, nor the end of anything, but merely a chain of events... there will always be a case of Keep Reading... Keep Reading... Keep Reading... _

_          History has an order of sorts. Event A, followed by Event B... followed by Event F. There are so many stories in the world that don't get told. Mistakes get made. Some of those are on purpose. One such 'accident' could change the world forever. _

_          Inanimate objects can't decide on the world's future... can they? _

_Keep Reading... _

_Keep Reading... _

_Keep Reading... _

  
~*~ 

  
          Tom Riddle was a funny little boy. Small, skinny as a rake, with dark hair like a halo in negative and large eyes, deep and greeny-blue, that stared innocently out at everyone. He looked lost. In fact, there was a perfectly good reason for this, being that he indeed was. 

          Kings Cross Station. Well. It wasn't what he'd hoped for. Tom was already beginning to dislike it. He'd never been there before, but quarter an hour was long enough for him to discover that it was large, with hopelessly confusing subways winding in every direction, abuzz with noise, as lively as a piece of cheese on a hot day. Where on Earth was he supposed to go?! 

          Was he even supposed to be there? Suppose it was all a bad joke... a prank, played by one of the other orphans in the Home where he lived? He couldn't really be a wizard, could he? 

          But then he reminded himself of the photograph in his pocket. That photograph of the tall, dark lady, with a soft, beautiful face and long, glossy black curls, dressed in flowing emerald green robes. She couldn't have been any old than eighteen years old in the photograph.

 His mother. Nothing so astounding, you might think, until you realize that this photograph moved. Every so often she would shift slightly from her position with her hands folded solemnly in front of her, to smile ever so slightly and give a little wave, before returning her hands to her lap and her expression to the bored look that Tom supposed she was stuck with. 

          What else could that be but magic? 

          No, this had to be real. It had to be. Not even those pillocks back at the orphanage could fake a ticket for platform 9 and 3/4s, or train an owl to drop a letter on his bed. _Definitely not. None of them even had neat enough handwriting to have written it, either. Most of them were stupid. They certainly couldn't create a whole new secret street in London, full of magic objects and strange new things he never seen before. No possible way. _

          All the same! Platform 9 and 3/4s! Right now, he couldn't even find a platform 9! He shifted the cage that held his owl, Gobnet, so that it was now in his left hand, as it had been rubbing a sore on his right. A few passing people gave him an odd look. Tom gave them a strangled grin in reply, and decided to start moving again. 

_          So, if that lead to the Victoria Line Eastbound, it couldn't possibly be there because that was a tube station, well then, it must be this way, but it could also be that way, because that was above ground, and lead to the Piccadilly Line, and-- argh! _

          "You all right, sir?" it was a station guard. 

          "Um," Tom thought about this, "I'm, er, I'm looking for platform nine and-- I mean, platform nine." 

          "No problem, sir. Up the stairs, along the passageway to the left until you get to the main station again, and it's just there in front of you, a bit to the right." 

          "Thank you." 

          The guard gave him a friendly smile. "Cheers." 

~*~ 

          At least, when Tom finally found the main overground station, it was marginally better than the underground one. People weren't rushing around as much. There was a board with train times on it, decorating one wall, with a clock next to it. Ten to eleven. That left him ten minutes to find somewhere that couldn't logically exist. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. 

          It was when there was only five minutes left, and Tom was seriously beginning to panic, that something caught his eye. A slim built boy and a girl with golden curls were leaning against the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10. Or at least... they had been. 

          Tom blinked his eyes, trying to clear his vision. Surely he hadn't seen what he'd just seen. Where had they gone? 

          The voice of reason sounded in his head. "Hello, Tom, are you quite awake? Look! It's the barrier between nine and ten! Surely they can't have been going to Platform 9 3/4? You might not be a whizz at maths, but surely you can work this one out yourself! 9 and 3/4 is between 9 and 10, isn't it?! Just try going through it. Magic exists, you know." The voice sounded as if it knew what it was talking about. What had he got to lose by listening?

          Thinking himself completely stupid, he walked up to the barrier and prodded it with his finger. It seemed solid enough. 

          "Just go through it, Tom," the voice sounded thoroughly annoyed, as if it couldn't believe its authority as 'The Voice of Reason' was being questioned. 

          Grasping Gobnet's cage and squeezing his eyes shut, he ran the few short steps to the barrier. Although he was fully expecting to smash headlong into the barrier, he was still just slightly surprised when he actually did. 

          "_Oww!" Tom let out a few expletives that boys his age normally wouldn't have known, causing some people to cast disapproving glares at him. _

          "Oh, don't you know how to get through the gate? Muggle-born, are you?" a young girl, presumably a witch, questioned, eyeing Tom's owl.

          "No, my mother was a witch!" Tom jumped up and spat defensively. 

          "Calm down, no insult intended! I'm half and half myself, mate, so don't get your knickers in a twist," the girl, who looked about his age, laughed. Tom noticed that she was a bit on the pudgy side, and rather short, with mousy brown hair in a similar style to a dandelion-clock. Her boot-laces trailed along the ground, and her voice had a Cockney twist to it, "Just the way that you ran smack-faced into the barrier made me wonder. Where's your mum anyway? Didn't she tell you how to get through?"

          "She's dead," Tom mumbled, looking at his feet, wondering what a witch girl would make of this. From what he could work out, blood and relations were very important in wizarding circles.

          The girl's tone softened and the foolish smile faded from her face. "Oh... I'm sorry about that," she whispered. 

          Gaining back some of his pride, Tom quickly said, "It's okay; you didn't know. I'm Tom Riddle, by the way." 

          "I'm Connie, me," the girl said, a grin returning to her face. "And, Tom, to get to Platform 9 'n' 3/4s, you need to believe that you can go through the barrier. All there is to it. You just can't doubt yourself. So go ahead, try it again." 

          Standing up and brushing himself off, Tom again picked up Gobnet, who was quite ruffled after being dropped. He eyed the barrier suspiciously. 

          Connie laughed. "Fine, here, I'll go first. You can watch and follow, but do hurry up, or else we'll miss the train, and _then we'll be in serious trouble." Tom noticed how she could say a long sentence with barely a pause for breath. Seeing his nervous glance at her, Connie beamed back at him, picking up a box, which meowed loudly in annoyance at being moved. _

          "Oh, shush, you," Connie scolded the box, turning back to Tom, "Flippin' cats, I wanted a toad, but me parents wouldn't have anything to do wiv'un. You know what mothers are..." she appeared to think about this for a moment, "Well, actually I suppose not. Sorry, slip of the tongue..."

          "It's all right," Tom reassured her.

          "Cheers," another grin, "Cheero for now." She saluted Tom in a very comical manner before stepping through the barrier. 

          Tom wandered to the spot Connie had left vacant. Would it work for him if he did it right this time? Suppose it didn't, and he had to return to the orphanage?

          Holding his breath, he chanted to himself "I can make it, I can make it." Still chanting, he sprinted forward. One...two...three...four steps? He hadn't made it to four last time. Maybe he'd just taken shorter steps. Maybe. 

          Tom opened his eyes and was halfway amazed that he wasn't King's Cross Station anymore. At least, he wasn't in the same King's Cross Station he'd been in a second ago. 

          Everywhere were people dressed in the robes he had in his suitcase. There were parents hugging children and crying how they couldn't believe that their babies were so grown up and going to school, while their kids were desperately trying to squeeze out of their grasps, so as not to be embarrassed in front of their classmates. 

          Tom was drowned in a moment of unbelievably heavy sadness. He pulled out the picture of the beautiful, young, raven-tressed lady who was his mother. _Why couldn't she be here? Why wasn't she here to cry over how big her little boy was getting?_

          It wasn't fair. Why did she have to die giving birth to him? For a moment he hated her, and was about to rip the sepia tinted paper into tiny pieces, when the picture did something it had never done before. His mother stood up from the stone bench. Tom could see the tears streaming silently down her face. In an instant she was back on the bench, in the same position, with the same bored look on her face, leading Tom to wonder if it had really happened at all. 

          "Hi! Tom!" Connie yelled over the noise of the station. She ran up to Tom before he could shove the picture back into his pocket. "What's that?" she asked. 

          "It's a picture of my mother," Tom answered quietly. 

          "Oh..." Connie paused. "Can it see it?" 

          Tom paused, and then handed over the picture. As Connie looked at the picture, her eyes lit up. "Oh, Tom, she was beautiful. What was her name?" 

          "I don't know. The orphanage never asked her. She died a few minutes after I was born." 

          "Oh..." Connie paused again, "Well, we can find out when we get to Hogwarts. My dad, he's the wizard of the family, right, he got a photo like this when he left. Of him, I mean. It's your mum's graduation picture, I reckon. She must've been in Slytherin, since her robes are green." She handed the picture back to Tom, who carefully tucked it back into the pocket of his shorts. 

          "C'mon Tom, let's go, we need to get on the train now." 

          "All right!" Tom tried to not let his excitement show too much. He wasn't sure which he was more excited about, leaving his horrible life at the orphanage or finding out more about his mother. He decided it was equal. 

          This school was going to change his life forever. He could feel it!

          Tom and Connie wandered through the train, searching for an empty compartment, with varying degrees of success. 

          Eventually, they came across an almost empty one, which contained only one person; a boy of about the same age as the two new students.

          Tom had poked his head round the door, and was about to inquire about whether the seats had been saved for anyone, but was beaten to it by Connie, who walked in purposefully, and plonked herself down in a window seat.

          "Wotcha," she nodded to the boy, before calling back to Tom, who gave her a look, slightly dismayed at her impoliteness. At the Orphanage, they had been taught manners with what was practically a rod of iron.

          "Sorry," Tom apologized, seating himself opposite Connie. The boy gave him a nervous smile, and returned to staring into space.

          "I'm going to let Fluffykins out for a run," the girl announced after a moments' silence, reaching for the cat-basket, and hauling it up onto her knee, "He's getting all ratty, cooped up. Back at home, he wasn't kept in one bitty space the whole time," she cooed into the basket, "Were you, you ickle monster? 'Ooza horrible iccle animal? Is you? Yes you is!"

          Tom nodded and opened his mouth to tell Connie about how Gobnet was not allowed out at the Orphanage, when the other boy piped up.

          "Please, don't let that cat out!" The boy looked extremely anxious, as if he expected them to hit him. He was thin and earnest, presumably tall when standing, and had sandy hair that might have been curly if it had been allowed to grow any longer. His voice had an upper-class note to it, without being obnoxious. If this boy had not been alone in the carriage, Tom felt sure, he would never have noticed him at all.

          Connie raised her eyebrows, "Why not? There ain't nothing wrong with him, if that's what you--"

          "No, no... I just... I'm allergic to cats, you see," he shrugged miserably, "Sorry."

          "No probs, mate." Connie shrugged it off, "Looks like you're going to have to wait 'til we stop, ain'cha, ratbag?" she added to the animal.

          "Why? What Familiar have you got?" Tom quizzed him.

          "A toad."

          "Well, they're brill."

          "Smashing!"

          "Exactly."

          The boy nodded solemnly, but the corners of his mouth turned up a little, "Thank you."

          "What's your name?" Tom asked, curiously.

          "Louis Clive Gilbert."

          "Tom Riddle."

          "Constance May Johnson," Connie imitated Louis' accent and manner, "Much obliged to make your acquaintance, Louis Clive Gilbert."

          Louis dropped his eyes, and stared at the floor, looking very embarrassed. Tom kicked Connie slightly in the leg, and raised his eyebrows warningly at her.

          "What? _What?!" Connie scowled at him. _

          Tom decided to change the subject, "Aren't you worried about going to Hogwarts?"

          Louis shrugged, "So long as I'm in a decent House, and... and people don't make fun of me."

          "House?" Tom looked blank.

          Connie explained the system to Tom, whilst Louis nodded away like a nodding dog opposite them.

          "What House do you want to be in?" Connie asked of the boys, "Dad was in Hufflepuff, I suppose I'd go there, given the choice."

          "Mother was a Ravenclaw, and Father was a Gryffindor," Louis informed them, "I shouldn't mind being anywhere, except Slytherin. I hear they're a rotten lot, there."

          Tom, remembering the picture of his mother in her bright green robes, felt a rush of anger, "There's nothing wrong with Slytherin!"

          Louis went pink again, and shrunk back a little, "I... I'm sorry, I only heard--"

          "Well, don't tell me what you 'only heard'!"

          "Sorry! Just, my sister just said that--"

          "_There was nothing wrong with my mother!" Tom realized that he was shouting. He could feel the tears welling up behind his eyes. _

          "I never said--"

          "Well, _don't say! Don't even __think about saying!"_

          Louis fell into silence, looking embarrassed and upset. Connie bit her lip, and glanced from one to the other, common sense no doubt informing her to be quiet.

          She really needn't have bothered, for even if she had spoken up, she would have been interrupted. The compartment door slid open, and the curly headed blonde Tom had seen disappear through the barrier entered. Up close, she was a very pretty girl, with honey blonde hair falling in perfect curls, and a rosebud mouth. She wore a disdainful frown and just looked plainly unhappy, with her grey-green eyes staring haughtily out at the world over her nose, which was held high.

          "This seat isn't taken, is it?" she drawled slowly. Perhaps if she'd all been a bit older, her drawl might've sounded seductive, and the rest of them would've noticed. But as she was no older than twelve, she sounded nothing but ridiculous. But no one would ever dream of telling her that.

          Before anyone could answer, she set herself daintily down on the seat by Louis, pointedly making sure she was as far away from him as she could get. Tom realized vaguely that he was gawping, but his mind didn't seem to want to start working enough to close his mouth.

          "There wasn't any room in the other compartments. I got here a bit late, I suppose," she told them airily, smoothing out the wrinkles in her black silk robes. She seemed to want to get the point across that she wasn't here by choice, but by necessity. "My name is Eris Deianira Echelon," she again drawled, accentuating the word 'Echelon.'

          "Hello, pleased to meet you, I'm," Louis looked over at Connie, "Louis Gilbert." 

          He held out his hand for a handshake, but Eris Echelon just looked at him. Awkwardly, he pulled his hand back, blushing a brilliant crimson. Tom was too busy staring at Echelon with his jaw wide open, to notice her snappy, mean tone. 

          "Well, Miss Eris Deianira Echelon, I'm Constance May Johnson, this is Thomas I-dunno Riddle, and _you are very, very rude," Connie sniped, imitating Eris Deianira Echelon's drawl perfectly, eliminating any trace of her native Cockney accent. _

          "If I were you, girl, I would watch how I talked to my betters," announced Echelon, tossing her curls. 

          "And what does that mean?"

          "You know perfectly well. You're probably not even a Pureblood. My family goes back generations, back to the time of the Hogwarts Four, and before that, as well. Not a drop of that filthy Muggle blood in me," she declared smugly.

          "And so what if I ain't? Are you trying to say something about my mum?"

          "Connie," Louis muttered slightly under his breath, "don't pick a fight, please..."

          "Yes, I'd be quiet if I were you, Johnson," Echelon agreed with Louis, "Or else you may well find that something unfortunate happens to you at Hogwarts...something very unfortunate. Although I can't see anyone truly missing _you. Except maybe that stupid Muggle mother of yours."_

          "Oh, sod off." Connie rolled her eyes. Tom could see she was holding back a wave of rage. "I'm not the one who came wanderin' in here with no blinkin' friends!"

          Echelon glared back and, apparently unable to think of some witty comeback, muttered "Fine, you people don't know the first thing about manners..." below her breath and stalked off. 

          There was a moment of silence, which Connie broke by snapping at Tom, "Get you jaw off the floor. There's nothing worth gawking at in lit'l Miss Eris Deianira Echelon there. Cattier girl I've never seen in my life. In fact, I think she's cattier than Fluffkins here. Eris Deianira the Second'll make a fine name for the little ratbag." Connie waggled her fingers through the bars of the cat basket, let out a yelp of pain, and withdrew her hand, which now sported several red marks. 

          Tom sniggered slightly, despite himself, but felt guilty a moment afterwards for doing so. Sniggering wasn't a common or even acceptable practice in the Home, in his case. People sniggered at him-- he didn't snigger at them, unless he wanted his head bashed in.

          Realizing that what Connie had told him off about was true, Tom closed his mouth and blushed violently. He felt like a prat after staring at a girl who had been completely rude to his-- dare he say it?-- friends.

          He'd never had any friends at the Home. To them, he'd always been "that strange kid who can make bad stuff happen." He'd heard the talk. "Yes, Tom Riddle, he's a strange one. A real loony! His mum, I heard, was a witch. Yeah, wit a wand 'n' everything! A bad 'un, too. I bet you anything you like that he's a witch as well..." What a pillock. Boys aren't witches. But still, just the connotations of the word...odd, different, not one of us...

          But here, he wasn't that same Tom. He was normal. He was like every other person on this train. He was magical, and had a better life ahead of him than any one of those gits back at the Home did. 

          And Tom was going to make sure that all those morons knew it. Every last one of them. 

~*~

          The Hogwarts Express continued onwards, steaming across green countryside, past small towns and hamlets, over viaducts, and through black tunnels filled with swirling smoke.

          It was several hours later, as the sky was turning navy blue with a delicate sprinkling of stars scattered across it, that the Hogwarts Express finally stopped. 

          The students tumbled out of the carriages, dragging suitcases, trunks, cat baskets, and cages containing various other creatures. 

          The first years were herded into boats of four, and set sail across the rippling waters of a serene lake. Wind rippled across the water, causing the boats to bob like toys in a tin bath.

          And then they saw it; huge, black, and impressive against the night sky, windows casting golden reflections onto the waters of the giant lake. Tom gaped, awestruck. Goodness gracious... he never could have even imagined anywhere so large, so magical, so obviously full of intense secrets. 

          "My word..." Tom murmured.

          "Gosh!" Louis nodded in agreement.

          "Blimey!" Connie raised her eyebrows, "And I thought the Tower of London was big!"

          The final member of the boat, a girl with lumpy plaits, who had introduced herself as Peggy Barnaby, just blinked at the silhouette in front of them, apparently speechless.

          With a bump, the boat hit the shore, followed by several others. First years piled out onto the bank, chatting over-excitedly with anticipation.

          "Everyone!" A small but thin woman with a nose you probably could've sliced bread with, a bony, thin face, and coarse red hair pulled back so tightly that it gave the appearance that the skin on her face was somewhat stretched called over the crowd, "Everyone! Be quiet this instant!" They did as she commanded, "Thank you. You are now going to follow me into the Great Hall, where you will be Sorted into your Houses. When you have been allocated a House, you will go and join their table. All right-- everyone, follow me!"

          The doors behind her swung open, revealing the Great Hall. It was massive. The ceiling seemed not to be there at all, for the sky was clearly visible, although it seemed too warm inside for the ceiling really not to be there, Tom decided. 

          The Hall smelt of food; Toad in the Hole; Steak and Kidney Pud; Chips; Treacle Tart; Chocolate Pudding. Tom's mouth watered. Louis and Connie looked equally as hungry. All the new students gazed at the food in longing. It occurred to Tom that he hadn't eaten in ages...

          The babble of talk from the entire school died away, as the first years were lead to the front of the Hall, and a thin and reedy man stood up to speak.

          "Welcome, everyone! Welcome back to all our old students, and as for our new ones, well, welcome to you, too! I am your head teacher, Professor Armando Dippet. I hope that you enjoy your time here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and do your best in all areas. Now, to the Sorting... for those of you who don't know, when year name is called, you are to come forward and put the hat on your head. It will tell you which House you best belong in." His voice was wheezy, and it grated on Tom's nerves.

          He looked around, wondering what the Professor could possibly mean about "the hat." It was only then that he noticed a hat, placed on a stool in front of them. It was dingy, worn, most certainly not magical looking. He exchanged glances with Connie and Louis, both of whom shrugged and looked confused.

          At that moment, a tear at the hat's brim opened, so that it looked for all the world like a mouth, and a sing-song voice came out, chanting; 

These tales aren't few or far between, 

But such a history you've never seen! 

These stories, now in old folklore 

Tell the epics of the Hogwarts four-- 

the founders of our school so dear. 

For great Gryffindor, the brave at heart 

would of his House become a part; 

For Slytherin, so says the tale, 

the cunning will surely never fail; 

For Hufflepuff, the members of this house are true, 

and prove that good folk be not few; 

Finally, for Ravenclaw, the cleverest ones you ever saw, 

their learning and braininess remembered in awe.

These tales are great, but very true, 

Such will never spring anew! 

These myths, now in old folklore, 

Tell the epics of the Hogwarts four-- 

the founders of our school so dear. 

          The whole school burst into applause, and everyone began talking all at once again, until the first name was called; 

          "Abbingdon, Felicity-Anne!"

          The girl skittered forward, and rammed the hat upon her head. There was a moment of silence, and then...

          "Hufflepuff!" Abbingdon trotted off to join the table decorated with yellow and black. The Hufflepuff students stamped, clapped and cheered her as she plonked herself down amongst them.

          "Alley, Julianna!" became the first new Ravenclaw, and then "Amway, Seaward!" joined the Hufflepuffs. The first Gryffindor was "Baynes, Penny!", and the first Slytherin, "Carrington, Mabel!"

          Tom watched his companions slowly leaving the front of the Hall to join their Houses, and could feel what seemed to be someone squeezing his stomach into a tight knot with a clammy hand. He noticed that Eris Echelon sat at the Slytherin table, her nose held high as ever. She must already have finished her first year.

          Eventually, the name "Gilbert, Louis Clive!" was called out, and Louis loped to the front, looking absolutely terrified. He sat with the sorting hat on his head for maybe five seconds, before being declared a Ravenclaw. 

          Some time later came Connie's turn. She was declared a Hufflepuff. Tom hoped and prayed that he could join his friends at either the Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff tables. Louis was staring into a bowl of blanc mange now, and Connie was talking about something to a fellow Hufflepuff who wore a pained expression. Oh, please could he be with one of his friends, _please...?_

          "Riddle, Thomas!" he jumped slightly at the sound of his name, and upon being shoved forward by the nervous blonde boy standing next to him, tottered towards the hat, placed himself nervously on the stool, and dropped the hat on his head. It was dark, musty, and smelt strongly of moth balls-- or what he hoped was moth balls. 

_          Ah... said a little voice next to his ear, __I can see that you're one interesting person, Tom Riddle..._

          Yes, well. That's me. Interesting. Right.

          The hat seemed to laugh at this thought,_ Indeed, yes. Hmmm... I couldn't put you in Hufflepuff; far too interesting for that... I don't think Ravenclaw would be your kind of place... Gryffindor? I don't think so. You'd fit in, very well, in fact, but what the world needs is not another foolishly brave wizard... the world needs...needs something else... I don't think... well... I'll put you in..._

          Not Slytherin... I want to be with my friends... not Gryffindor... I want to be with my friends...

_          Be quiet, boy. As I was about to say, I'm going to put you in..._

          "SLYTHERIN!"

          Tom groaned inwardly despite himself, removed the hat from his head, and wandered over to the Slytherin table, where cheers and chat greeted him. 

          He didn't know how he knew, or even if he was _supposed to know, but he knew that this was not supposed to happen..._

_Keep Reading..._

_Keep Reading..._

_Keep Reading..._


	2. A Trinity

Tres Tria 

By Fire&Ice 

Email: Fire_and_ice_15@hotmail.com 

Genre: General-a bit of everything, really! 

Rating: PG for later chapters (?) It may or may not get to PG-13

Spoilers: All Four Books 

Summary: Everyone thinks they know the story of young Lord Voldemort. But maybe he didn't always have a lump of ice for a heart... all things have to change. Maybe he had to change. Maybe he was pushed. One event, one choice can shape the world. And this is where it all began... 

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Promise. All we own between us is this fic and several siblings [who you are most welcome to.] 

Author's Note: Hi! Well, here's chapter two! This is our first co-written fic, and so we hope you like it! We are better known as Ginny J and Ravenclaw's Pride. If you want to AIM Ginny J, you can talk to her at Trillion87 and Ravenclaw's Pride can be reached at VillaChick24. Please read our fic and, if you have a spare moment, leave a review? They will be appreciated.

We own Connie Johnson, Louis Gilbert, Eris Echelon, Professor Kane, Professor Broadbeck, Lycius Malfoy, and Abbey Warlock. Steal them at your peril! Mwahahahaaa! ~cough~

Anyway... On with the fic... ;)

~*~

___________________________________________________________

Tom had risen unwillingly early next morning. True, he had gone almost immediately to bed, feeling put out and sulky, not to mention extremely out of place.

He'd half hoped that Eris Echelon, the girl from the train, who was, he now knew, in the year above him, would talk to him-- or at least smile at him-- but she seemed rather taken with another First Year boy who had introduced himself as 'Malfoy'. As far as Tom so far knew, he had no other names. He seemed older and much more sophisticated than the other First Years-- to Tom anyway.

All the other Slytherins seemed already to have marked Tom down as a 'freak of nature' almost automatically, and so it was that Tom had eaten breakfast almost alone. Malfoy occasionally made a general comment to the table, that Tom couldn't help but overhear, about what teachers they might have, and how he was glad no Muggle-borns had got into the House. Tom had answered in monosyllables and a monotone to match. Not that anyone really listened, he realised gloomily.

And now he was waiting outside the classroom for his first lesson: Potions. Tom had arrived early as a means of escaping Malfoy and, to a certain extent, Echelon, and was quite alone. He waited for a few minutes, bored and depressed, before being joined by a jauntily cheerful Louis.

"Oh, hello Tom. You're early."

"Yes. Well, so are you." Tom wasn't in the mood for being sociable, and Louis was rather taxing to be sociable with.

"I know..." Louis paused.

"Why?"

The fair-haired boy shrugged, "Oh, you know..."

"No, I don't." Louis was looking rather uncomfortable, but Tom was determined to dig into his thoughts. "Tell me."

"I suppose I'm just not that good at getting along with new people. I never quite know what to say. I mean, everyone's really nice, and they're really trying to be friendly but... well... I just don't know what to talk about. Silly, isn't it?" he grinned vaguely.

Tom knew the feeling-- although the Slytherins hasn't exactly been 'nice'-- but wasn't going to admit it to Louis in a month of Mondays, "Well, just talk about, well, things. Be yourself!"

"I am myself."

Tom thought about this. It was logical, probably. A person couldn't exactly be anyone but himself or herself, could they? Unless they were forced to be something they weren't. Confusing...

"Well, you'll find people to talk to. Your lot look like nice types." _More so then in stupid Slytherin, anyway,_ he thought bitterly

The bell rang. The corridor started filling with chattering students, discussing their first lesson of the new term-- for some, their first lesson at Hogwarts! Potions... Tom didn't know anything about Potions. Not for the first time, he felt the gripping, squeezing feeling of nerves in his stomach.

"Do you think--?" he began, but a shrill voice cut across.

"Hello!" It was Connie, smiling broadly, eyes shining, twittering like a lark, barely able to keep from bouncing. "Isn't it _super_ here? All the other people in Hufflepuff are great! I have Herbology now. I can't wait! After morning lessons, do you want to come and explore the school grounds, you two? I heard that there are monsters and things, it'll be _fun_!" She chattered, her stubby brown pigtails bobbing as she did so.

"Hello, Connie," Tom gave her a thin smile, but felt, somehow, that disliking Connie would be like disliking a puppy. In more ways than one, she resembled a small, round, over-enthusiastic little dog.

"Oh, yes, hello," Louis nodded.

"So, do you want to come after class?" she persisted. It was too early for this, thought Tom. His brain had only just started working. But all the same, he might feel differently after class. You never knew. And after break they had flying, which would be an adventure in itself... all the Houses would be learning that together.

"Oh, why not?"

"Great! You too, Louis? Oh, please come--"

Louis laughed at her eagerness, "Yes, all right. I'll come, but right now, I'm busy feeling nervous about this first lesson."

"I know," Tom agreed, "I think I have butterflies establishing permanent colonies in my stomach."

"Don't worry," Connie grinned, "It'll be super! Can't you just imagine being able to do all kinds of great stuff, just by mixing the right potion, or saying the right words? Look, mate, I have to go. Don't want to be late for my first class!" Connie took off, sprinting down the hall towards the outdoor greenhouses.

Before either Tom or Louis could say anything, the door to the Potions room swung open, as if by magic-- which it probably was, Tom decided-- and the class filed in, silent, except for the odd murmur to a nearby companion.

They seated themselves nervously, as a tall woman with reddish-gold hair, who Tom recognised from the previous night, strode into the room, carrying a stack of books and a few jars of assorted things, none too pleasant looking. She smiled at them with thin lips.

"That's Professor Kane," Louis murmured, taking the seat beside Tom, "She's the head of Ravenclaw. She was very nice to me yesterday."

"Welcome, class!" Professor Kane announced in a strong Irish accent, "I am, in case you didn't realise, your Potions teacher for this year, and perhaps after, Shannon Kane. That's Professor Kane to all of you, though." She smiled good-naturedly.

"Good morning, Professor Kane." The class droned in monotone, as they were accustomed to doing in their primary schools, but she waved them silent with a high laugh.

"No need for all that! Anyhow, I hope that you are all good learners, and will co-operate with me and with each other." A dark haired girl sitting in front of Tom gave a high-pitched laugh. A Slytherin boy to Tom's right coughed, in what sounded curiously like "_Ravenclaw!"_

"I will be having you for this double-period of Potions on a Monday morning. Yes, that's two hours, and you know you'll love it!" It sounded more like an order, although the teacher's eye twinkled pleasantly, "Although I should warn you now, there is no room in this class for unruly students..." Professor Kane paused, as if to emphasise this point, and looked meaningfully at the red-haired boy who had 'coughed'. "But I'm sure we won't have a problem with that kind of thing. Now..." and she proceeded to talk emphatically about potions, the different kinds, which ones they would be studying this year, and which ones were forbidden within the school grounds. The girls started giggling at the mention of Love Potions and one or two looked disappointed that they went against school rules.

"It might be worth mentioning," Professor Kane said, "That—as you know if you've been reading The Daily Prophet—there is a very heated discussion going on in the Ministry concerning love potions. It has been suggested that all forms of Love Potions should be outlawed. Although we don't get into the composition of love potions, their origins, and their effects until Fifth Year, I don't see a reason why we can't just get the basics, and give you a little taste now, seeing as the situation in the Ministry."

Louis looked at Tom with a glimmer in his eyes, suggesting perhaps that he had been given a Christmas present six months early. "Love Potions," he whispered excitedly in his ear, "are very complicated and dangerous. Some of them are even classified as Dark Magic! She must think a lot of us, to be giving us such challenging work so early."

Tom was of a slightly different state of mind. In his opinion, they should just start off easy, with some simple potions from the book. More advanced stuff meant more advanced homework, and spending three hours a night on potions homework didn't catch his fancy, excited as Louis might have been.

"Wonderful," he muttered under his breath. "Just simply brilliant."

Louis heard him, but mistook his sarcasm for sincerity. "Oh, but isn't it, Tom? Can you believe we're going to be going into Fifth Year material? It's so exciting!"

Tom pulled up a strained smile. "Yeah, it is. Spiffing."

"Now!" Professor Kane announced. "Who can tell me why some Love potions are so dangerous, and then explain why they are classified as Dark Magic?"

Louis waved his hand madly in the air, but Professor Kane called on a smug-looking Slytherin girl in the front row. Tossing her strawberry blond curls, she announced, "Some love potions, such as the _Amor Omnia Vincit_, which means "love conquers all" in Latin, are dangerous because they have no reversals other than the death of both of the affected parties. They are deemed as Dark Magic because they control a person's feelings and emotions, much the same as the _Imperius_ curse controls actions, and are contrary to a person's true nature." She smirked and settled back into her seat. 

"Excellent work, Miss Momsen! Five points to Slytherin!"

Tom though that she sounded like she was reciting from a textbook, but didn't complain.

The lesson continued, and, as Professor Kane continued to describe the different types of Love Potions, Tom fell into a stupor. Most of this went way over his head, and he didn't really have any use for a love potion at that moment in time. Professor Kane explained that, obviously, doing a Practical lesson on Love Potions would not be a good idea, and Tom lost even more interest. He wanted to do something. Just... something! Two hours of sitting there was far too long!

Louis seemed fascinated by the whole idea of any kind of Potions, and asked question after question, nodding sincerely and making notes on the answers. Tom felt like kicking him, but decided against it. He wanted to stay on good terms with his friends, and kicking people, although fun at the time, never got him anywhere. Anywhere good, he corrected. The only place kicking Louis would get him was the headmaster's office and Tom didn't want to end up in there, receiving the plimsoll so soon in the year.

The plimsoll had been a popular form of punishment in his old school, where anyone who chose to even breathe out of turn would be sent to the front of the class, and returned red-eyed, red-faced and red-fingered to his or her chair, faced by sniggering schoolmates.

On the plus side, it didn't seem like that at Hogwarts. As they slouched out of class with the rest of the Slytherins and Ravenclaws, Tom listened to some of them, most, if not all, Ravenclaws, chattering excitedly, elated at this fascinating new knowledge. Most of the Slytherins, however, just skulked about and looked surly. 

Tom, however, was hoping that Flying would be a vast improvement over Potions.

He had a broom up in his dorm-- not a terribly flashy or expensive one, but apparently not ready for its retirement in a Quidditch Museum just yet-- a Shooting Star 007. He had not quite dared to try flying on it yet, partly because he didn't know how, but mainly because he hadn't wanted to make a fool of himself. Not that he hadn't already.

They wandered down to the lake, after both boys visited the dorm to retrieve their brooms. The lake, luckily, was not hard to find. Connie was waiting impatiently, and waved like a maniac when she spied them trotting towards her. Tom was willing to bet she'd run all the way there from her last class, although maybe her pink cheeks were only that colour because of the unusually sharp September cold.

"Hallo! What in 'Eaven's name took you two so long? Crawl, didja?" she asked them, pulling her cloak about her more tightly and re-adjusting her black and yellow muffler.

"You do know that you look like a bee in that thing, don't you?" Tom pointed to Connie's wrap, ignoring her question.

"And you don't look like some dodgy snake in yours? Please, Tom," Connie snorted.

"Good morning, Connie." Louis waved awkwardly.

"Hi, Louis!" Connie smiled happily, and regarded the two of them. "Well, OK, now! We have forty-five minutes until flying lessons start. And, oh, I almost forgot. Tom, Louis, I invited a girl from my Herbology class to come too. So we still have to wait for her. Lazy git!" she added jokingly. Tom wondered how on earth Connie managed to stay so happy all the time.

"Oh, who?" Louis asked as he fumbled with his blue-and-bronze striped tie.

"Er, Abbey Warlock. She's a Gryffindor. In our year, obviously. She's really nice, if a bit of a stick in the mud sometimes."

"Well, that's... great." Tom said. Louis was too busy fiddling with the clasps on his cloak to say anything. Either he'd found the workmanship in the silver highly interesting or he was nervous. Tom found the latter was more likely.

"Connie! Hello, Connie!" a lanky girl with cherry red hair, sharp brown eyes, and a heart-shaped face loped over to them, waving. She grinned, a wide grin that didn't seem to fit right on her face. This gave the unnerving impression that she was about to go for the neck.

Tom stared up at her. She stood a good head and shoulders over him, and she even topped Louis' height. The girl wasn't bad looking, really, he considered, but there was something about the way she looked at him made him feel that he'd answered a question wrong. Plus, being gazed down on from such a height unnerved him.

Louis looked uncomfortable and edged away from the newcomer a little, fiddling with his cloak. "Well, then," Connie cleared her throat. "I think I'd better introduce everybody, since you all know me. This," she gestured to Louis, "is Louis Gilbert, from Ravenclaw, and he is Tom Riddle. He's in Slytherin."

There was an awkward silence, Abbey gave Connie a suspicious look and Louis fidgeted a little. Tom knew exactly what Abbey was thinking. 'Connie is friends with a Slytherin? Is she out of her mind? They're awful.'

All the same, in the end it was Abbey who broke the uncomfortable moment. "Hello, then, both of you." She flashed a smile.

"Hello." Louis nodded, a little starkly.

"Hi." Tom smiled vaguely.

"We have flying next lesson. Do you like to play Quidditch?" she asked. Her tone was rather blunt, Tom felt. Maybe she always spoke as if she knew her mind.

"I... er ...I've never tried it."

"Are you Muggle-born? That's odd, a Muggle-born in Slytherin! Very odd indeed. Most of the Slytherins absolutely, positively _hate_ Mug-ow! What did you do that for?" 

"Shut up!" Connie hissed.

Tom was about to step into his defence, fully prepared to tell Abbey about his mother, when she continued on.

"All right! No need to use aggression; attacking a fellow human without just cause is a manifestation of inner turmoil and conflicting emotions. Really, if you can't resolve your conflicts without violence, you really ought to get some classes. My friend said that Dr. Woodstrin, in London, is an absolute genius. Maybe you ought to owl him about it." She announced this with absolute seriousness. The other three students blinked at her, and Tom couldn't help but snigger, wondering exactly how Abbey's friend knew this doctor was really a "genius." 

Abbey turned a stern eye on him. "And you oughtn't to laugh, Thomas Riddle; it's a symptom of a deeper inferiority complex."

"Sorry," Tom apologised, trying not to grin. Connie gave him an amused glance, and continued the previous subject.

"It's flying next lesson, isn't it?"

"Yes," Louis nodded, "And I can honestly say that the greater likelihood is that I will fall and break my neck. And give everyone a good laugh, into the bargain, I'm afraid." 

"You'll do fine!" Connie laughed.

"She's right," agreed Abbey, somehow managing not to sound scornful, keeping up with her constantly sincere tone, 

"No need to be scared. I mean, hardly _anyone_ dies flying, unless they do something really stupid, like driving themselves into a wall."

"They might not mean to," pointed out Tom, "If they didn't manage to steer right, I mean--"

"Well, that's still pretty stupid, isn't it?" persisted the Gryffindor girl, one eyebrow raised high.

"Not if you don't know how to steer right."

"That's stupid in itself. It's a broom; how can you not be able to steer a broom? It's a simple matter of up, down, left, or right!"

"Look, I don't know, I've never flown one."

"Hah, then _don't_ pretend you know what you're talking about." She gave Tom a superior glance, looking extraordinarily pleased at having scored points off him.

"Well, anyway," Connie interrupted desperately, seeing the look on Tom's face, "I'm sure it takes a bit of learning, right?"

"It's eas_y_," announced Abbey, "I've been flying since I was three. I've won awards, you know."

"Brilliant! I've never flown."

"I have, a bit. But I'm no good," Louis admitted, biting his lip, "I think my older sister got the better part of broomstick talent. She's Keeper for Ravenclaw, you know. I don't have a very good sense of... of... of whatever you need to be good at flying."

"Co-ordination?" Connie suggested.

"Probably." 

"Ah." Abbey gave Louis a critical look. "There's a mental condition for that, you know." She studied him with intense eyes, "Shouldn't think you've got it, though."

"Oh, well, that's a relief then." Louis didn't look as though he had even the faintest idea what she was talking about. Tom sighed. This newcomer was giving him a headache. And she was strange.

It is said that there are two types of people in the world; those who can say 'this is a fact', and those who can say _'Why_ didn't you know that this is a fact, stupid?' Tom suspected the Abbey belonged to the latter group. It occurred to him, however that this saying was wrong. Others, such as Connie, might say 'Who cares? So long as it's a fact, does it matter if we know it? 'Sides, it's probably just indoctrination or somethin'.' Louis probably didn't fit in either; his group would be the ones who just blinked and looked confused. Tom wasn't sure which group he belonged to. He wasn't sure he cared.

They continued talking aimlessly, forgetting completely about the exploration, until the bell went to signal the end of their free time, and the return to lessons.

They trudged down to the nearby Quidditch pitch, trailing their brooms behind them. Tom noticed that Abbey's broom was highly polished and very definitely unscratched, even though it was not brand new.

They were met on the pitch by their new teacher; a muscularly solid man, with a handsome face and that usual, horribly brisk manner that Tom always associated with P.E Teachers. It was terribly apparent that he was one of those men who believed that students should frequently play good, competitive games in healthy, outdoor sleet. 

"Come along, come along, chop-chop!" he hailed them, as they wandered through the entrance to the Quidditch pitch, and were directed to their various changing rooms, "You there! No lally-gagging!"

Louis gave the professor a harassed look, and quickened his page by approximately 0.26 miles per hour.

After changing, the first years met on the Quidditch pitch, hanging around in dribs and drabs of friendship groups, all dressed in their Quidditch robes, which came in two obvious sizes; too big or too small, except for Abbey's, which, Tom noticed irritably, fitted perfectly. Tom also noticed that, despite her apparent confidence when speaking, she held herself rather awkwardly, as if she wasn't sure what to do with all her limbs.

"Right! Come along, line up! Get a move on, young chappy; it'll be Saturday by the time you get into place!" The teacher considered the class in front of him critically with his sharp blue eyes, presumably just to make absolutely sure that there were no other nitpicks he could make. "Very well; you'll do for the moment. My name is Professor Broadbeck, and I am going to be teaching you to fly, one hour, once a week for the rest of this year." He paused, as if to make sure that no one had moved out of line without his permission, and proceeded to demonstrate exactly how the students would go about mounting and flying the brooms.

After awhile, the students who did not know already what to do began to get the hang of it, and those who were a little rusty regained confidence. 

Tom circled slowly, not daring to go more then a few feet above the ground, whilst Louis clung to his Shooting Star, gripping the handle with his hands, arms and knees, eyes screwed almost shut, as if he expected to plummet to the ground any moment.

Connie did not seem to be having such difficulties, flying confidently over head, grinning happily, and Abbey was doing likewise. The two shouted to each other in exultation.

Malfoy, Tom noticed, had flown the highest, and was perched upon his broom like a bird on a branch, watching the whole proceedings with obvious boredom. It was evident that he was extremely used to flying, and considered this to be a waste of time. Tom couldn't help but feel like a bit of a fool under the blonde boy's stony gaze.

"Now that most of you seem to have got the hang of that," barked Professor Broadbeck, giving Louis and another boy, a sandy child with a square jaw, who was doing his best to look suave and failing miserably, a haughty look. "I think we shall attempt some games and exercises. Don't worry, very few people have broken any bones doing these; it's when we get on to Quidditch that it becomes more dangerous."

Tom decided that he definitely didn't want to know anything about Quidditch, thank you very much. His idea of a good sport was cricket or tennis, both of which he was fairly good at. Or, failing that, chess. 

Although far from the worst at flying, he did not like the feeling of being so far from the ground, and was convinced that it was only a matter of time before he would fall off and break every bone in his body.

The teacher split the students in House teams, with the order to play each other at various skills; scoring with the 'Quaffle'-- Tom took a moment to realise was the red ball-- then racing up and down the pitch, and finally, to get from one side of the pitch to the other whilst defending yourself against a large, heavy, dense black ball that Tom made a mental note to call a 'Bludger'. 

The first two tasks, Tom completed successfully, but the final one was the one he was dreading. Louis had already been rendered unconscious after falling off his broom whilst trying to score during the first game and a number of other students had, for one reason or another, failed their tasks and had been sent to sit on the sidelines. 

Abbey had been gotten out during the previous game, and she was now sulking on the sidelines, muttering under her breath.

Tom's remaining Housemates were, much to his annoyance, Malfoy, a shadowy girl with bullet-hole eyes and long, dull, charcoal-black hair called Margaret Moon, and a spidery red haired boy, who Tom remembered as the boy who had 'coughed' in Potions; Francis Whipstaff.

Connie remained still in the game on the Hufflepuff team, along with a boy called Lupin. Tom wasn't looking forwards to having to hit the Bludger at her, or vice versa. 

"It's us up next."

"Huh?" Tom jumped. It was Malfoy, hovering just behind his ear like a giant moth.

"I said it's us up next. Me and you against those stupid Hufflepuffs, you know. Should be a laugh-one of them's a girl, for a start. Easy. They're practically asking for a defeat."

"She seems quite good, actually." Tom said, faintly.

"What at, needle work?" Malfoy sniggered.

"No-- Quidditch. Don't think she's the sewing type, actually." 

"Probably just beginner's luck. Besides which, she's a girl, so people will have gone easy on her, let's face it. I honestly don't know why they let girls play Quidditch. They're _hopeless_."

"It's dangerous, too. Everyone knows that boys are better at this stuff." Tom nodded. 

"Exactly. Anyway, isn't she that girl you hang around with? Along with that wussy Gilbert boy? I saw you in a train compartment with them yesterday, and then just a little while ago, by the lake."

"Er, yes." Tom admitted, reluctantly. 

"Honestly, Tom, I don't know what you see in her."

Tom squirmed slightly. "She's a friend."

"Naturally-- Oh for goodness sake!" Malfoy howled suddenly, as Margaret fell from her broom, having been hit in the face with a Bludger aimed her way by a sturdy-looking Ravenclaw boy. Blood was gushing from her nose. "You see what I mean?! _Useless!_" He rolled his eyes and threw up his arms to punctuate.

Francis, returning from the game against the remaining Ravenclaws, handed the two boys a bat each. Tom was slightly more at home with this. It was like having a rounders bat at his disposal. 

"Your turn. Beat them; we're Slytherins, we're the best, and we can win this. We're the best at everything. Margaret will be all right in a minute." Francis informed them, frowning determinedly.

"Thanks." Tom smiled, queasy, wondering why the others were taking this so seriously. It was only a game, and not even an important one, either. He supposed that was what Slytherin was all about: winning. 

"Right." Malfoy and Tom turned to face the opposite side of the pitch, where the last two Hufflepuffs hung in the air; both the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor teams had been defeated.

Connie and the tiny, fair boy called Lupin didn't look as though they'd be much of a match for such a large ball and two boys with hefty bats.

"Ready!" The teacher's voice rang across the silent field.

Tom could feel his one hand gripping the broom handle, the other clutching the bat as if it were a lifeline. He really, really did not want to end up like Louis, or even Margaret.

"Steady!" Tom exchanged supportive grins with Malfoy, and focused upon the other side of the pitch. "..._Go!"_

The whistle blew, and the two Bludgers shot from their restraints into the air. One pelted itself straight at Malfoy, and the other towards Connie. Their bats both cracked against the balls, which ricocheted off, and then came spinning back, one narrowly missing Tom's left ear.

He bent his head down, and tried to focus once again on the opposite side of the pitch, but one of the Bludgers was coming right at him again. He swung at it heavily with his bat, almost missing. It spun off to be met by Lupin's own bat.

Tom's breath caught in his throat, and he bent lower, speeding ahead, determined to make good ground while he had the chance.

Malfoy was slightly ahead of him. They were beating the two Hufflepuffs back. Tom swooped past Lupin, almost knocking him from his broom.

Tom heard someone swear an oath. Connie had swung at a Bludger so that it bounced towards Malfoy. It caught him on the thigh, but did not unseat him. He spun towards the girl, so that it seemed as though he was going to fly right into her, forcing her to dive.

Lupin stared for a second, but a blow from a Bludger sent towards him by Tom bought him back to his senses. He tried to get past the Slytherin boy, but Tom blocked his way, sending another Bludger cracking towards him.

Malfoy was still blocking Connie, doing it in such a way that she was forced nearer and nearer the ground, making it hard for her to concentrate on the Bludgers as well as the looming ground. He swooped at her again, pressing her ever downwards in a steep fall.

Tom, sensing his help was needed, smacked the next Bludger to come his way towards the girl. It caught her heavy on the chest, winding her enough to give Malfoy a chance to force her even further downwards, until she hit the ground with a thud and a groan.

Lupin forgot the game, aware that there was no hope of his winning, and swept down to help his teammate. Slytherin had won.

Malfoy let out a yell of exultation. Tom found himself joining in, forgetting Connie's misfortune, and swooped down to join the rest of his team.

"Good job, boys," Margaret, holding a blood-soaked handkerchief to her face, which contrasted with her ghostly white skin, greeted them quietly. The bleeding seemed to be subsiding, although she was developing two black eyes.

"Fantastic, you two!"

"Thanks!" Tom beamed, pushing his fringe out of his eyes, pride welling inside him. It was the first time any of the Slytherins had ever paid him any interest, never mind a compliment.

"Did you see the way that little Mudblood fell?" Malfoy laughed, his eyes shining. "Smack!" 

The others joined in his laughter, although Tom suddenly felt guilt for what he had done. He should have left Connie to Malfoy and got rid of Lupin instead. He didn't dare voice his sympathies before his House mates, though-not when they were treating him, for the first time, like one of them.

Professor Broadbeck jogged over from where he had been tending to Connie and various other assorted injuries. "Yes, yes, well done, chaps," he greeted them breezily. "Ten points to Slytherin. Although," he glanced back, frowning, at the other students on the sidelines. "I don't this you needed to use quite that much force."

"Sorry, Sir." Tom apologised. Luckily, perhaps, the other Slytherins took this as sarcasm, and joined in, in mock-earnest tones.

"Gosh, yes, Sir!" 

"Won't let it happen again, Sir."

"Absolutely not, Sir." 

"Well, then," he smiled happily, "Well done all. You won, and a valuable lesson learned in the process, I daresay."

"Definitely, Sir." Tom wondered if Connie and Louis were all right, but daren't ask in front of the other Slytherins. 

"Right." Professor Broadbeck summoned the class together. "A very well done to all of you, and better luck next week to everyone who didn't do so well. You will have noticed by now that I expect your very best efforts, yes?"

"Yes, Sir!" chorused the class.

"Excellent. Now, it is time for you to go and get changed. I expect you all to be ready to get to lunch within five minutes. Off you go."

~*~

Tom met Abbey, Connie and Louis-both now quite recovered from their misadventures-by the lake. He grinned at them uneasily.

"What did I miss?" Louis asked. He had been unconscious for most of the game, following his fall.

"Slytherin won." Tom said.

"Thanks to the cheating of that Malfoy boy. And _you_." Abbey turned on Tom. "What did you do that for, you idiot?"

"I didn't mean to!" Tom protested. "Anyway, I'm sorry." He turned to the other girl, who gave him a thin smile. 

"I'm sorry, Connie."

"'S okay, mate. Just a game, eh?" she replied. 

"Thanks." Tom smiled at her, thankful that she hadn't taken it personally.

"What happened?" Louis asked again.

"That _stupid_ Slytherin attacked Connie for no good reason."

"What? _Tom?_" Louis looked astonished.

"Yes, me. And I didn't mean to," Tom half-lied. "I hit her accidentally."

"Didn't look like it to me! Who were you aiming for, then? Lupin was halfway 'cross the field, Tom. You hit her on purpose-- just so as you could win," scoffed Abbey. It was weird, Tom thought, the way she always kept her voice steady, as if pressing a logical point. "Honestly, the stupidity of _some_ people."

"_You_ like winning." Tom pointed out, almost accusingly. "You didn't exactly take being gotten out lightly."

"Yes, but _I_ didn't cheat! _You_ shouldn't have to cheat. That's just... that's just not on."

"_I_ didn't cheat; Malfoy did. Go and have a go at him, not me."

"Fine. _Fine_." Abbey screwed up her face. "I'm just saying--"

"Can you stop arguing?" Connie interrupted. "I'm fine, it was an accident, and it's just a game. Who cares, eh? Anyone'ud think I was brown bread to hear you lot talk."

Tom thought about this. Possibly, if he tried to translate Connie's strange dialect, this had a meaning beside the fact that she was something for sale in a baker's shop. He suspected that he'd missed out on some interesting slang by failing to live in London. Louis, however, queried for him.

"You're what?"

"Brown bread- and I ain't."

"Elaborate?"

"Copped it; gone for a Burton; Pushing up daisies." Sensing continuing incomprehension, Connie sighed. "Dead!"

"Ah." Louis turned to Tom and Abbey. "She's right, you know. You two could at least try and get along?" He gave them a nervous smile.

"All right, pax," Tom nodded, "I'm sorry." He wasn't really-at least, not to Abbey, anyway, but it was, he decided, a good plan not to admit it. "Friends?" He held out a hand, which Abbey regarded with suspicion.

"Oh, gosh that's cheesy, Tom Riddle. My little sister does that, and she's six years old-- but all right," she added hastily, seeing the look on the others' faces. She gripped Tom's hand. "Friends."

"Great!" Louis smiled happily, relieved at the end of hostility. 

"Great?" an unpleasant sneer sounded behind Tom. "_Great_? What's so great about being 'friends' with a snotty, oh-so-high-and-mighty Gryffindor? Also, might I add that a certain inflection on the 'high' should be noted." Malfoy stood behind Tom, with Francis on his right side. Margaret, Tom noticed, didn't stand beside Malfoy, but rather a few steps behind him, looking much like his shadow, rather than a girl. Her eyes were black and blue from where she'd been hit with the Bludger, but with her shadowy appearance, it looked almost eerily natural.

"Hello, Mudblood," Malfoy leered at Connie. "D'you see this?" He tossed his head behind him to indicate Margaret. 

"This is what girls should be like: quiet and obedient to their betters. She knows better than to try to win a man's game."

Abbey gave a derisive snort. "You fancy yourself a man? You're barely even a little boy- a certain infliction upon 'little', should be noted, incidentally, Malfoy. Actually, you're more of a weasel than even a little boy, never mind a man."

"Oh, so are you taking note of this, too, you weedy Gryffindor? What do you think you're doing, flying broomsticks? Did you actually think you could beat us Slytherin boys?" 

He turned his head, locking his gaze on Tom. "Just as I thought, Riddle, you Mudblood lover. Can't believe you got into Slytherin House. But, because I'm in a rather forgiving mood, I might give you one more chance. Come with me now, and we can forget that this little rendezvous ever happened. No one else needs know about it, Tom. Come back with us now, we'll be the heroes of the First Year Slytherins. You helped crush the Hufflepuff House, the house for Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers. You'll be welcomed into Slytherin with open arms." Malfoy grinned, an oddly thin-lipped grin that reminded Tom of a poisonous viper he had seen once, in a zoo.

There was an awful pause. Tom looked at his friends. Louis looked like a rabbit in a boa constrictor's den, eyes as wide as platters, Connie appeared incensed, and Abbey looked as if she were ready to throttle Malfoy.

After a long silence, Tom cleared his throat. "I'd rather keep my real friends, thanks." He tried to keep the reluctant edge out of it, but he wasn't sure he succeeded. 

Malfoy threw him a disgusted glance, wheeled himself around, and stalked off towards the castle. Francis immediately followed.

Margaret, however, darted up to Tom, making him jump, and whispered something that was inaudible to the rest of the group, before turning her ghostly, downcast face away from the four other students and slowly following her housemates. 

__

"I don't blame you, Riddle. But just do as they say. They'll make your life miserable."

Tom turned around to face his friend. Louis looked to be recovering from his shock, Connie was smiling vaguely, but Abbey was looking at him oddly.

"What did that revolting ghoul girl say to you, Tom Riddle? Abbey inquired her voice as maddeningly steady as ever, her composure regained. 

"What?"

"The question wasn't that complex, Riddle! What...Did...She...Say?"

"Nothing!"

"Right, _that's_ terribly believable. She leaned in and-- golly me! - she forgot what to say! So she just held her face up against your ear for a few seconds."

"Yes, that's exactly what happened. Well done, you." Tom couldn't be bothered to argue. He'd barely known the girl half a day, and already the sight of her was irritating him.

"You wanted to go with them, didn't you? Don't lie, I know you did!"

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. The point is, however, that I didn't! I stayed here with you, which I'm starting to see as a mistake."

"A mistake? Really? Well, then I'm sure you won't mind that I'm leaving now. I'm going back to my Housemates." She turned to face the other two. "Sorry Connie, sorry Louis. I really am, but I just can't stand here another minute with _him_." She pointed accusingly at Tom. "Filthy Slytherin article."

Trailing her broom behind her, she marched up the hill towards a large group of gold-and-red clad students.

~*~

__

Now there are four. There's no escaping that. But fours don't work. Two to keep an eye on the other, and one left over... it's as old as the stars. Threes are what work...

The Holy Trinity; the Maiden, the Mother and the Crone; the Hogwarts Trio; it all works. No escaping it. Things are starting to happen, and everything that happens has a purpose.

There were the Hogwarts Four, but one left. Again, there were three. Slytherin alone. Kind to kind; like to like, that's the way it has always been. Threes have power. And so, of course...

Keep reading

Keep reading 

Keep reading...


	3. A Discovery

Tres Tria  
  
Chapter 3  
  
By Fire & Ice  
  
  
  
Dinner was not a happy affair. Tom sat and stared into his bread pudding until it turned cold, with the other Slytherins jabbering away to each other snidely. He was, once again, ignored.  
  
He could have been one of them, but he had turned them down that day by the lake, almost a week ago now. Stupidly.  
  
Malfoy had since paid him no heed, and Margaret did whatever Malfoy did, although Tom could sense the degree of coldness coming off Margaret was lesser than from the others, whist Francis watched him out of the corner of his beady eyes in a way that made him distinctly uneasy.  
  
Everything, which had seemed so good for such a short time, seemed to be going wrong again.  
  
Connie had tried to be friendly to Tom since Abbey had enforced herself into their clique, as Tom saw it, but seemed drawn between the two. She evidently could not help but feel that the whole thing was Tom's fault. Although she seemed to have requested that Abbey do her best not to attack Tom on sight, and so, Abbey maintained a civilness to Tom which could have made mid-winter seem warm by comparison.  
  
Louis was obviously less than happy with this state of affairs, but bore with it with dogged determination, never quite daring to complain; never one to voice an opinion unless it was absolutely necessary, he seemed to become even more edgy then normal, and obviously just wanted everyone to start getting along. This, Tom already knew, was probably not going to happen.  
  
Tom realised that he had been watching his bread pudding for five minutes. It continued to look completely unappetising; cold and soggy. Food had barely improved since the war had ended a year ago, and this, Tom considered, was proof. He prodded it, half expecting it to prod him back. It didn't.  
  
At least they weren't still trying to force people to eat powdered egg any more, or 'dig for victory' as if it were some kind of vegetable.  
  
He pushed the dish away moodily, and mooched across the Hall, acutely aware of all the happy faces around him, carefree, no one caring to notice the dejected boy dragging his toes along the ground.  
  
He noticed Louis, Abbey and Connie standing on the other side of the Hall, laughing together. They seemed just so friendly and happy-when Tom wasn't around. It was so bloody unfair. Why were they any better then he was?! What made them deserve friends?! It wasn't like he'd done anything really wrong—Quidditch was just a game! And he could have gone with his Housemates, but he hadn't. Did that count for anything? They didn't understand—didn't want to understand.  
  
People, he decided, were not all they were cracked up to be.  
  
Louis was quiet and nervous and so hopeless at social skills that Tom was amazed that he'd ever even made a friend, whilst Connie was too damn happy, with too few brains, and as for Abbey… she was just contemptible! She was obnoxious, an insufferable know-it-all, and, in short, Satan's daughter. He, Tom, was perfectly normal. If all this was true, then why was he the one who was singled out and friend-less?  
  
He pulled himself to his feet, food untouched, and stalked out of the room, furious with himself and the rest of the world. No one stopped him from leaving.  
  
No one even noticed.  
  
Tom wondered what to do. He had no one to talk to, and nowhere to go. The Slytherin Common Room was not an option, unless he wanted to spend the evening being some older thug's victim.  
  
He set off, wandering with no destination in mind, scuffing his toes along the stone floor, trying to get their cheap rubber soles to leave marks until he came to a dead end—or not exactly a dead end. It had a door in it, wooden and ornate, with the words 'In here bides the knowledge of the world' engraved upon it in twiddley, official-looking writing. Tom realised that the carvings were of books; this had to be the library.  
  
Library… maybe they'd have records of previous students there? His mum! Tom's face cracked into a smile, but he was interrupted by the sound of laughter and voices drifting his way.  
  
His expression returned to one of sullen annoyance as Connie, Abbey and Louis turned the corner.  
  
"Oh, er, hi, Tom," Connie ventured, flicking her eyes over to look at Abbey, who was glaring at Tom, her arms crossed over her chest. Tom returned her fierce gaze; she met his eye, not blinking. It was a challenge. Tom continued the death-stare for a moment, but then blinked, and looked away, eyes watering. A tiny smirk appeared on Abbey's face.  
  
"We were just going to the library. Did you do you want to come with us?" Louis offered, glancing nervously over at Abbey, who was now staring obstinately at the ceiling. Her arms were still crossed tightly across her chest, as if to keep them from wringing Tom's neck. She did, however, wrench her gaze away long enough to glare irately at Louis.  
  
"Don't force yourself, though," she muttered.  
  
She obviously did not want him within a ten-mile radius of her, so he did what any self-respecting eleven-year-old boy would do; he accepted the invitation.  
  
Abbey scowled unpleasantly before wordlessly entering the library.  
  
"Ah, well, right then," Connie faltered before following her friend. "What have you been up to?" But she added under her breath "Don't mind Abbey, she's just… opinionated. Gryffindor spirit, I think."  
  
"Nothing much. Lessons, homework, watching paint dry… And don't worry, I won't."  
  
Connie smiled breezily. "Good, good!"  
  
But even Tom was shaken out of his dark mood when he entered the library.  
  
He'd never bothered to go in before—partly because he had been unable to find it-- and was now fervently wishing he had. It was magnificent; tall cathedral ceilings loomed above him, and the musty old shelves were filled with books, the sizes of which ranged from tiny editions, which Tom could have balanced on his little finger, to huge monstrosities, which would have taken three people to carry.  
  
The air seemed to tingle with some sort of power. Condensed education!  
  
The four students stared around in awe, mouths agape.  
  
Louis apparently had already been a visitor, because upon his entry, the librarian pounced from behind her desk, shaking a finger at him. "Louis Gilbert! For shame, leaving your books lying around like that! You're lucky I'm allowing you back in, young man! When you're done with them, kindly put them back on the shelves, where you found them! It's enough work for me, without little hooligans like you leaving precious, one-of-a-kind books on a table where it could be lost, or damaged, or stolen, or--" At this point, she about seemed ready to swoon. She was a middle-aged witch, and sturdy built, but it seemed as if Louis' crime was about to put her over the edge. She puffed heavily, trying to catch her breath after the rant.  
  
"Madame! There's someone who needs help over in the Astronomy section!" A young witch emerged from behind the counter, a stack of books in her hands.  
  
"Oh, dear me! Coming!" The librarian, caught up in the moment, forgot completely about Louis and his High Crimes against the library. She hastened off to a far corner of the large room.  
  
Louis flashed a grateful smile. "Thanks, Madam Washbourne. I really appreciate it."  
  
The woman grinned, her pale blue eyes sparkling. "No worries, Louis, it's not a problem. Madame O'Kieran can be rather overbearing at times, can't she? Last year one of my mates from Slytherin left a book in the dungeons. Couldn't find it for weeks. I thought Madame O'Kieran would fall into convulsions when he confessed." She laughed, and set down the pile of books on the table beside her.  
  
"Anyhow-- Louis, dear, I don't believe you've introduced me to your friends?"  
  
"Oh!" Louis jumped slightly. "This is Ab-Abbey Warlock."  
  
"'Lo, Miss Washbourne. Nice to meet you." Abbey grinned, and extended a hand. They shook. Toady! Tom thought.  
  
"And this is C-Connie Johnson."  
  
"Halloo, Miss Washbourne," Connie waved.  
  
"And this--" Louis swivelled around, looking for Tom. "--This is Tom Riddle. They're my friends. All of them." He gave Tom a strained grin. Tom raised his eyebrows in reply. At least he was trying to be nice.  
  
"Hi," he muttered sheepishly.  
  
"Ah, Slytherin House, I see, Tom? A few of my best mates were from that House. I was a Ravenclaw myself, though; hence the librarian-ship, no doubt. Between us, we came up with some rather good, er, plans." She grinned mischievously down at Tom. Tom smiled back. He couldn't help it. He liked her. She was instantly easy to get along with, and compliments never hurt, either.  
  
"Well, what are you in need of, you four? Antigone Washbourne, assistant Librarian, is at your service." She bowed ceremoniously, whipping a large quill around with a flourish.  
  
Connie glanced over at Tom. "Well, we were coming to look for some extra Charm texts, so we don't need any help, but, um, I think Tom might like some help searching for something." She'd guessed what he wanted most. Something he wouldn't have expected from someone as scatter-brained as Connie.  
  
Tom remembered what she had said on the platform earlier that week; "This is your mum's graduation picture. We can find out her name and stuff when we get to Hogwarts." Did they have records of ex-students?  
  
Madam Washbourne smiled congenially. "What do you need? I can probably find it for you."  
  
"Well, uh," Tom swallowed, and felt his pocket for the tattered old photo. "I was hoping you could help me find my mum in the old school records..?"  
  
"Oh, all right! That's easy enough. We keep records of all the Seventh Year photos. Mostly the professional, studio ones, but there are always some candid ones, as well. What's her name?" She smiled and began walking to the right of the desk.  
  
Tom followed her, almost tripping himself to in order to keep up with her long-legged strides.  
  
"Well, er, I don't really know, Madam Washbourne."  
  
Madame Washbourne stopped abruptly, almost causing Tom to crash into her.  
  
"You don't know? Sorry? I think I misheard you." She seemed a bit confused.  
  
Tom wanted to slap her. He'd said it quite clear enough, hadn't he? His mother was dead! He never knew her; he didn't even know her name! Was it all that uncommon? The war had just ended; plenty of people didn't have parents. The ever-increasing number of residents at the Home was testament to that, plus unclaimed evacuees and street children! Why did he have to keep explaining it?  
  
"You didn't mishear me, Madam Washbourne. I don't know her name. She died a very long time ago." He said firmly, leaving no room for misinterpretation.  
  
"I'm sorry, ducky…" she trailed off awkwardly. She considered a moment, and then began walking again. "Well, then, do you have any idea what year she graduated? What house she was in? Maybe what she looked like? We need something to go by, I'm afraid. Without something, we might as well be throwing darts at the pictures and assuming the one it lands on is your mother."  
  
"Oh! Right," Tom extracted the photo from his pocket and handed it over, hesitating only slightly as the picture left his hands. He never went anywhere without it, and handing it over to an almost stranger felt odd, no matter how much he wanted what Madam Washbourne could help him find.  
  
"A picture! Wonderful! Let's see… I'd say she was Slytherin from the robes. Like you." She glanced up at Tom, double-checking her assumption. After Tom gave a curt nod, she returned her attention to the picture, which was straightening her robes and smoothing her hair.  
  
"Hmm, I think we should start looking about twelve years back; she wouldn't have been in school when she had you, but she might have a year or so after she left school. A lot of girls used to do that," Madam Washbourne mused, handing the cherished photo back to Tom, who tucked it safely back into his pocket. "Fewer children born after the war started, you see. No-one wanted to risk it. Dangerous times, even for our kind."  
  
Reaching a long row of bookshelves, Madam Washbourne stopped. The books upon that sat on the shelves, Tom noticed, were all almost identical, with royal purple covers and--of all colours-- brilliant pink binding. The only difference between them was the silver numbers on the spine, labelling the year of graduation. There must have been at least a thousand-- if not more-- of the pink-and-purple books.  
  
Hogwarts certainly has been open for a very long time, Tom thought, if these school records are anything to go by. I wonder why they keep them.  
  
Running her finger along the first row of the books, Madam Washbourne muttered a small "Ah-hah!" and pulled out a book from the shelf.  
  
Flipping open the cover on the book, she turned to the first and second page, where Tom, who was peeking at the book over her elbow, saw a layout of about twenty-five to thirty older teenagers, in alphabetical order.  
  
"Er…" Madam Washbourne murmured as she scanned the page. "…no. Not this one. Perhaps back a bit further." She pushed a few of the books into Tom's hands.  
  
"Why don't you look through these? They always have a table of contents on the first page, and that has the pictures on it, so you don't have to flip through."  
  
"All right," Tom agreed. He felt apprehensive and excited, as though he was inside his own private bubble. Setting down the books at a nearby table, he took a seat and began to look through them.  
  
Seven books later, there was no luck. Tom snapped the final book in his pile shut, and slouched forwards on the table, trying not to cry.  
  
"Well, this is getting a bit ridiculous!" Madam Washbourne proclaimed, straightening her horn-rimmed glasses. "Maybe we've gone back too far. Maybe your mum had you right after she left, or left earlier than I predicted. Might as well give it a look… Cheer up, she's got to be somewhere around, eh?"  
  
She pulled out three books; ones filed a little more recently the ones they had been through. "Well, unless your mum is a lot older than we thought-- which I don't think because that picture looks relatively recent-- she should be in one of these. Here," she handed Tom the one off the top of the stack. "Take a peek in there, and I'll look through these ones, and if we don't find her, by God, we'll go find Madam O'Kieran. She's been here for a fairly long time; she ought to recognise your mum. She was very pretty, and you don't forget a face like hers."  
  
"Thank you," Tom mumbled, embarrassed. His mum had been very beautiful; he wondered if he'd ever look even half as good as her. If he did, no one had ever mentioned it.  
  
Tom scrutinised the rows of pictures, some of pretty, smiling witches and handsome wizards winking roguishly out at Madam Washbourne, (She isn't bad looking at all, really, Tom considered. She just graduated last year, too, I'd guess. She's very young. I wonder why she didn't get married) and some of scowling, thin-lipped, miserable-looking witches and scrawny, staring, vacant-faced wizards.  
  
"Ooh! Look, Tom, look! I think I've found her!"  
  
"What? Where?!" Tom jumped up, hardly daring to breathe.  
  
"Olivia Elena Marvolo… the picture's the same as your'n!" she cried excitedly, her upper-class accent betraying a tinge of Irish in her excitement.  
  
"My middle name's Marvolo… the woman at the home told me that she named me Marvolo after her father. Must've meant her dad's family name!" He dashed over to peer at the book in the librarian's hands.  
  
"It says here page 248," she flipped excitedly to the page, fumbling pages in her hurry to reach the page.  
  
Tom was reminded of a puppy that one of the girls had found wandering the streets alone, a little while after a raid. She'd kept it for a while, and it had loved fetching sticks, and finding anything that was thrown out for it to catch. Madam Washbourne reminded him of that dog; she seemed almost as excited as Tom felt.  
  
"Ooh, here it is! Here's your mum's page! Goodness, look! That's picture that you have!"  
  
And sure enough, it was. The same exact picture that Tom carried in his pocket everywhere he went sat at the top of the page, under the caption:  
  
Olivia Elena Marvolo, Slytherin, left Hogwarts 1937  
  
But he'd seen that already. Looked at it every day since he could remember. What else was there? A name. That was a start… but still…  
  
Skimming his eyes further down on the page, Tom saw another, more interesting, photo. Not just of his mother, but of her and two other girls; her friends! Tom thought. Maybe they're still around, maybe I could find them, and find out about her!  
  
There was another girl with gleaming chestnut hair, and a blonde with rabbit-y front teeth, smiling and laughing together. The background was a bit out of focus, but they were outdoors; blurred spots of green and blue, added to the fact that the three girls wore scarves (Green and silver on all of them, Tom noticed, and for once a twinge of pride for his house swelled in him) and heavy woollen cloaks was evidence of that.  
  
The photo was a bit older than the professional one, and his mother was younger, perhaps in fourth or fifth year. Tom felt hot tears behind his eyes. Scrawled underneath the photo in thin, spidery, hastily written script was the proclamation:  
  
Slytherin Princesses Forever!  
  
  
  
~Livvy, Mariah, and Adrianna, 1935~  
  
All of a sudden, the book was snatched from his hands, and Tom heard a tutting noise. Madame O'Kieran stood behind him, book in hands.  
  
"Ah, Ms. Vida, I see that your love of defacing school property did not end after that unfortunate incident with 'Transfiguration Tools for Twits'!" She murmured, not really to anyone, but Tom caught it anyway.  
  
"Beg your pardon?" Tom asked, hoping to find out whom she was talking about.  
  
"Her," Madame O'Kieran pointed to the other chestnut haired girl in the photo. "Mariah Vida. Slytherin House; a real little troublemaker, if I recall correctly. She had a penchant for destroying and vandalising property that didn't belong to her. I'd recognise that handwriting and purple ink anywhere. Mark of a vandal, I tell you! She never had respect for public property, the little hussy," she muttered, shoving the book back at Tom and wandering off in the direction of the main desk. "At least Adrianna Feverfew had some respect... and I never knew what to make of that Olivia Marvolo child…"  
  
Tom stared after the librarian, still aware of the prickling feeling behind his eyes. He tried not to blink, as he searched for a quill pen to make a note of the names… Mariah Vida… and Adrianna Feverfew… it was a long shot—she was most likely married since then, assuming she'd survived the war—but maybe, just maybe, she could at least tell him something about his mother…  
  
"You all right, mate?"  
  
"Wha'?" Connie's voice made him jump. She was accompanied by Louis, and Abbey was, for once, nowhere to be seen.  
  
"Didja find anything?" Connie settled herself comfortably no the table, hanging over the book.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"What were you looking for?" Louis asked, head on one side.  
  
"Stuff about my mum. They have records of all the students that attended here going back years…"  
  
"Gosh." Louis blinked. "Can I see?"  
  
"If you want." Tom wasn't in the mood to be overly friendly to either of them after their recent treatment of him, but, he felt, there was no need to be anything other then civil. Not yet, anyway. "My mum, Mariah Vida, and Adrianna Feverfew."  
  
"Mariah Vida… I think she's got a relative in the seventh year. My sister's spooney over him; he's called Luke, or Lance, or something. She never shuts up about him…" Louis rolled his eyes. "That's basically yuk, if you ask me. But anyway, which one is your mother?"  
  
"Olivia Elena Marvolo. The one with the black hair." The fuzzy feeling inside, which he knew always came with the sharpness of the tears, was coming back. Tom lowered his face towards the page, in the hope that his companions wouldn't notice. A couple of tears fell hot from his eyes, mingling the old ink slightly.  
  
"Cheer up, Tom, you'll see her again soon," Louis patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. Of course, Tom thought, I never told him.  
  
"You think that, do you?"  
  
"Well, it's not like you won't be going home."  
  
"Don't remind me." Tom put his head in his hands, and stiffened slightly as Connie put an arm round him.  
  
"What's so awful, anyway?" Louis asked, obviously confused. "I'm sure she misses you as much as you miss her, and she wouldn't like you to--"  
  
"Louis, you utter prat—his mum's dead and he don't have a dad. Show some tact, will you?"  
  
"I didn't know that!"  
  
"Well, you do now."  
  
"I'm sorry…" he attempted a slight joke, "My psychic abilities must not be up to scratch today." This was not the right thing to say. Tom glared at him with red-rimmed eyes.  
  
"What, you expected me to introduce myself with a 'Hello, I'm Tom Riddle, I live in a Home where everyone hates me, my mum's dead and my dad disappeared off the face of the earth before I was even born, but don't worry, that doesn't bother me at all!'?"  
  
"I didn't mean it like that!"  
  
"You really know how to put your foot in it, don't you?" Connie sighed. "Cheer up, Tom; we care about you, even if they don't."  
  
"I don't see why you give a damn!"  
  
"We're your friends!" Connie objected. "Of course we care!"  
  
"Only when Abbey's not around, I notice!" Tom felt a wall of anger hit him. "I thought you Hufflepuffs were supposed to be loyal!"  
  
"All right, so Abbey doesn't like you; she doesn't like a lot of people! You really shouldn't take it like that. You'll be waiting a long time for universal popularity, and she's just Abbey! It's not the end of the world. Calm down!"  
  
"We wouldn't be talking to you now if we didn't care--" Louis began, lagging behind a little in the conversation.  
  
"You could at least be honest about it! You just like sticking your noses in! If you care, why have you been ignoring me all week?! You hate me, just like everyone at the Home did, just like everyone in Slytherin--" he pulled away from Connie's grip.  
  
"Tom, stop it, you're being daft!"  
  
"Please, Tom--"  
  
"You both have parents and families and friends, and, and, and safe homes to get back to… but I don't. You wouldn't understand!"  
  
"Oh, wouldn't I?!" Connie's eyes flashed. "I don't know about Louis, but let me tell you, you weren't living in London during the war, with bombs dropping every bloody night! Your dad didn't leave you because he had to go off and fight one day! Mine's not even a muggle, but he's fighting their war for them! He didn't have to go! At least you know you're never going to see yours again, there's no maybe in that, it's a fact, but I don't know what's happened to mine, so don't you tell me I don't know what it's flipping like!"  
  
Both boys hesitated slightly. It had never occurred to Tom that Connie could be anything other then a slightly daft, overly cheerful Hufflepuff who never cared or worried about anything. Her sudden outburst knocked his confidence, but it soon returned with a vengeance.  
  
"Er," said Louis.  
  
"No, my dad left because he hated me before I was even born. He hated me, and hated my mum, God knows why! At least people care about you. At least you still have a mother. At least you have somewhere to go home to. I've got a fat lot of nothing," Tom muttered, choosing to completely ignore common decency in the face of anger.  
  
"God, Tom Riddle, you're a selfish git! You won't even see the obvious…"  
  
Tom didn't answer. His teeth were clenched together too tightly. In the Home, you had to be a selfish git… You can't look out for anyone other then yourself in places like that…If I hadn't looked out for myself, no one would. But they're not going to understand that. They don't understand anything.  
  
"Er," said Louis again, "Er, I think Abbey's coming. Er."  
  
He was right. Tom pushed back his chair roughly, and stalked towards the library door in silence, half hoping that one of the others would come after him. They didn't. It was just bloody typical! Abbey over him. Abbey over everyone else. All bow down to Omnipotent Abbey Warlock, taker of friends and giver of insults!  
  
It was only when the door was shut behind him that he let his feelings truly show. He leant against the wall and sobbed. His hot tears scorched his face, and cruel sobs burned in his throat.  
  
This place was Hell in disguise, and people… they were all callous, hateful demons. All of them… the door opened again behind him.  
  
"Tom?" He ignored the voice. It was Louis. "Tom? Look, I'm sorry. Come back, won't you, old chap?"  
  
"No."  
  
"I expect Connie's sorry too really, except she's in a mood; she says you're stuck up, uncaring and ungrateful, but I came after you anyway--"  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"It's no problem." Louis missed the sarcastic note in Tom's voice.  
  
"Just leave me alone, all right?"  
  
He could hear Louis hesitating. "I just wanted to check that you were all right?"  
  
"Never better."  
  
"I don't believe that even for a second."  
  
"No, you wouldn't, would you."  
  
"Can't you stop being like this? I don't like it."  
  
"I don't like life, but there's nothing I can do about it."  
  
"Don't say that!" Louis sounded frightened. "Life gets better! There are worse things then not having parents, after all. Madame Washbourne, back in there, her parents were killed by Grindelwald a few years back. They were friends with my parents, an Auror and a Ministry witch…And she's fine! There are really much worse things, Tom."  
  
Tom, who had no clue what half the terms in the previous sentence had meant, pushed, "Like not having friends, you mean?"  
  
"Yes! -- I mean, no—I mean… you have friends. I am your friend. Connie, too, when she's not in a bad temper. Which she currently is, yes, but by tomorrow she'll be back to normal. Well, normal-ish, anyway. Abbey could be a chum too, if you gave her another chance…"  
  
Tom maintained a meaningful silence.  
  
"Yes, well, I suspected that you might feel that way."  
  
"Please leave me alone. I just need to calm down, and I don't want to end up taking it all out on you. I've picked up some very effective hexes in the Slytherin Common Room, you know."  
  
Louis sighed, and gave Tom a thin smile, choosing to ignore the threat. "All right then. Try and keep happy, or, er, something. See you tomorrow!" He turned and left. Tom watched him leave, his jaw clenched, and made his way, slowly and thoughtfully, towards the Slytherin Common Room.  
  
He had never liked the Slytherin Common Room. It was cold, stony and shadowy, rather like the vast majority of its occupants. There was nothing comforting about it at all. Once upon a time, it had most likely been a dungeon, and although that particular use for it was in the past, there was still something of the dark fear and loneliness lurking in the corners, almost as if its previous occupants were still present in mentality and spirit if nothing else. It made Tom feel as though someone was always watching him.  
  
He found a vacant chair-- which wasn't difficult, as the room was empty, save for a few older girls pouring over textbooks. The older girls had never bothered with him, and so Tom sat, curled up in the chair, head on his arms. He didn't allow himself to cry; that was stupid. He didn't want to cry over two stupid girls and another stuttering little boy. They were just people, and people… well… some of them, quite frankly, weren't to be trusted…  
  
Tom sensed someone lowering himself or herself into the chair next to him, and ignored them sleepily. He didn't want to have to socialise right now, and they probably had no intention of speaking to him anyway—  
  
"Tom Riddle?"  
  
Or not.  
  
"What?" He glanced up, groggily. It was Margaret. Well, she wasn't so bad, he supposed, in an unusual kind of way.  
  
"You all right?"  
  
"Do I look all right to you?" Tom snapped, and immediately regretted it. Margaret drew back, her stone-like black eyes completely unreadable. Her eyes had always worried him… even when her thin face was happy or sad, her eyes stayed exactly the same; like a pebble in hot or cold weather.  
  
"Sorry," Tom apologised. "I've just had a bad day."  
  
"More like a bad week, really, isn't it?" she prodded, looking for more of a response.  
  
"How would you know?" Tom hissed, trying to keep the angry edge out of his voice.  
  
"I listen, Tom, and I watch. I have an enviable position to be in if you want to know the happenings of the school."  
  
"What do you mean?" Tom spat, angry. She seemed to be implying that he was like some sort of animal in a zoo; there to be watched; studied; commented on; laughed at.  
  
"I mean that I can go practically anywhere without being seen or caught. People know better than to bother me. I think…" she paused, "After awhile, they just stop seeing me."  
  
"Know better then to bother you? What is that all about?"  
  
"It's about Lycius' family. Everyone knows he likes to keep me around, and they're too afraid of him and his family to go around pestering me. In our year, at least, all the students know to stay out of his way…and anyone else who is close to him is extended that same courtesy."  
  
"Really?" Tom asked, considering. If only he had taken up Malfoy's offer! "Well, why does Malfoy like you so much?" he asked. Maybe by asking Margaret, he could find some way to get himself on Malfoy's good side again.  
  
Margaret looked taken aback. "Well, I…I think his parents might've said something…" she trailed off, looking desperate to change the subject.  
  
"Well, well, well, look what we have here!" a voice to Margaret's right crowed in a malicious whisper. "It's Lycius' little pet, talking to the Mudblood lover!"  
  
Margaret steeled her face, not even looking at the speaker. "Hello, Eris. How are you this evening?" she said, perfectly disguising any anger or annoyance in a shroud of politeness.  
  
"Much better than you'll be doing when Lycius finds out you've been speaking to this traitor, Margaret Moon," Eris replied, an ugly grin on her face as she swung her glance between Margaret and Tom.  
  
Tom was having a hard time believing that he had ever thought her pretty. Now her face was twisted and unpleasant… or maybe… beautiful, but in a cruel, cold way, which made you doubt yourself, and feel almost powerless. As if you were nothing.  
  
Margaret faced Eris, her plain, angular face and her dully charcoal black hair opposite Eris' smooth face and golden curls. Eris seemed to think that she had the upper hand, but the younger girl sat in her gothic wooden chair like a queen, assured and unafraid.  
  
"Eris," Margaret began calmly, "Lycius trusts me. Slytherins should be loyal to each other. And, Eris, who do you think Lycius would truly believe? He has known me since we were very small children, and he has known you for little more than a week, and he also knows that you don't get along with me, and have reason to lie to him if it would better your own cause."  
  
Eris glared at Margaret, making it very clear that if she ever had the chance to retaliate against her, she would take it without a moment's hesitation. Margaret met her gaze with a tranquillity and degree of control that was completely uncharacteristic of an eleven-year-old girl.  
  
"You'll be sorry one day, Moon," Eris hissed, sneering venomously at both of them. "And you too, Tom Riddle. You both will be."  
  
"Eris, I know you're smarter than that. You won't try anything stupid. So don't try bluffing to me. I can see through all that, so don't you think I can't." Margaret said, the polite mask only thinly veiling her steel resolve, her voice still steady.  
  
With another spiteful glance, Eris turned on her heel and stalked off, her robes fluttering out behind her, making her look like a bird… a magpie, though Tom; what with her black robes and her near-white hair curling round her shoulders.  
  
Tom looked at Margaret, who sat quietly, calmly watching Eris glide indignantly through the door, in amazement. This is the girl who walks behind Malfoy? She doesn't seem to type to stand up for me…or for herself, even.  
  
"Margaret?"  
  
"Yes, Tom?" Margaret answered. She was watching her skinny hands, which lay folded primly on her lap.  
  
"Why don't you--why don't you stand up to Malfoy like this? He treats you like some doll… less than human… you know?"  
  
Margaret glanced up, for once looking Tom straight in the eye. "Tom, you need to learn how to pick your battles. It's very important when you're in this House, around people who believe themselves better than you. You have to plan. Lycius can take care of me, so I treat him respectfully, just like he expects. Eris isn't so wise; she will pick any fight that comes close enough. I don't need her, and she doesn't need me."  
  
"Why doesn't she like you?"  
  
Margaret grinned. Unlike most girls, Tom noticed, the expression didn't complement her features. It looked unnatural and forced, even through she was thoroughly sincere. Margaret's face was simply not made to smile broadly. Her features were suited to small, thoughtful smiles or grim straight lines. And, of course, her eyes didn't smile with the rest of her face. It gave him the creeps…  
  
"She doesn't like me because Lycius does. She's obviously after him herself, and she doesn't like the fact that he keeps me around, and that he barely pays her any attention."  
  
"Why does she care now? We're all a bit young for dating, aren't we?" Tom questioned, for the first time since he got here having an interesting conversation with another student.  
  
Margaret shook her head soberly. "No, it's not about dating him. She wants to marry him."  
  
Tom gaped at her. "We're eleven years old!" he gasped, the only semi- intelligent thing he could think to say. "Well, all right, she's technically twelve or thirteen, but still—!"  
  
"It's never too early to start trying. Not with wizarding families wanting money and other purebloods to marry into… Like I said before, the Malfoy family is very prominent and wealthy. It's the dearest ambition of many families to marry into it. The Echelons have been trying for generations to weasel their way into that family, mother says, but they've never succeeded. And I think they can say goodbye to this generation's chance, if she's the best they can do. Got looks, yes, but… she's not much of a person, is she? Hardly subtle."  
  
Tom was sniggering at her comment when something struck him. "Margaret? Why have you been so nice to me? You tried to give me advice before, you're talking to me now, and you stood up for me in front of Eris. Why?"  
  
"You looked like you needed help," Margaret said simply. "And you're a Slytherin, and it has always been my belief that people should be forgiving. You made a mistake; everyone does at some point or another. You deserve a second chance to fix things the way you want them."  
  
"Do you mean…that you'll help me make friends with Malfoy? You'll talk to him for me. Make him see that I can be a good Slytherin?"  
  
"Hmmm? Oh, no, I can't make him do anything. He's very stubborn." Tom's heart sank. "But I can find some opportunity for you to prove yourself to him. But you have to give up on the other three, Tom. I'm sorry you have to choose like this, but you'll never make it around with a Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. You might have stayed friends with the Ravenclaw if it had been anyone else but that Gilbert boy."  
  
"Why Ravenclaw?" Tom asked curiously.  
  
"Slytherin and Ravenclaw have had a history of very successful. Hufflepuff is much too intertwined with Gryffindor, and Gryffindor, if you haven't yet caught on, is our biggest rival. The two houses have never got along, since Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor themselves."  
  
"Really? Not once?"  
  
"Well, there have been Slytherin and Gryffindor marriages and whatnot, but I think the thing is that the people picked for each house are so very different from each other, because the standards for each house are about as opposite as you can get."  
  
"I see." Tom nodded. Would he really miss his 'friends'? Right at the moment? No.  
  
"It's worth remembering, though," Margaret said, watching his face carefully, "That you keep your friends close and enemies closer." She stood up. "Good night, Tom. I'll see you in the morning."  
  
She left him to stare thoughtfully after her, wondering when his chance would come.  
  
~*~  
  
Things look as though they just happen, don't they? 'One of those things', people say, 'an accident waiting to happen'… because something seems that way doesn't mean that it is. The suspect isn't always the villain. The hero isn't always the bravest. Minds can be twisted by friend or by foe.  
  
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, Tom Riddle… one day, you might just need them.  
  
And so, things continue, purposeful and ordered, as I intended.  
  
Keep reading…  
  
Keep reading…  
  
Keep reading… 


	4. An Advance

Tres Tria By Fire & Ice Chapter 4: An Advance  
  
The next morning, Tom woke with a steely resolve to discover more about his parentage. The thing was; where to start? He had two names. well, three, if you counted the mention of a brother; Mariah Vida, Adrianna Feverfew, and another Vida family member-- first name presumably beginning with an 'L'-- in seventh year, assuming Louis' memory had served correctly. Tom wasn't entirely sure that he trusted Louis' memory; he wasn't the most reliable source, after all.  
  
Tom decided as he gulped down his tea that his best bet was to find the brother. Mariah and Adrianna could all too easily have been married since they attended school, in which case the change in name would make trying to owl them directly pointless. Besides, he'd never used Gobnet before, and wasn't sure he trusted her with something like this. The whole 'owl' postal system seemed a bit dodgy to Tom. How was he supposed to feel comfortable entrusting something important to a bird?  
  
Best get his facts straight before he went off to Gobnet.  
  
Further grilling of Louis had proved fruitless-he evidently cared little for his sister's enamoured ramblings (not that Tom could blame him; he'd witnessed firsthand the utter boredom that settled over the room when teenaged girls got themselves started on the object of their affection)- although it seemed that he remembered her mentioning that Vida liked Quidditch, and that his sister, Felicity, played keeper for the Ravenclaw team.  
  
Even if Vida wasn't on the team, Tom supposed, he could at least ask some Ravenclaws where he might find Felicity.  
  
He wondered to himself what exactly he would say to either of them, assuming that he could find them in the rats-maze of corridors that formed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. All he needed was Mariah Vida's married name. and maybe the other girl's, Adrianna's, too. that would be sufficient to be able to owl them both, asking for details of his mother. and possibly father? However much Tom hated him, it would be nice to at least have a name, or even a face.  
  
But how to phrase it? He had a rather odd image projected in his head, of him simply walking up to Luke, sticking out his hand, and saying "'Lo there, Luke! I've heard from a particularly unreliable source that your older sister was best friends with my dead mum! What say you give me her married name so I can get to reminiscing!"  
  
That, rather obviously, wouldn't work. I suppose I'm just going to trust that to spontaneity. Something'll come to me when I need it to.I hope, anyway.  
  
Tom had vague memories of where the Ravenclaw Loft lay from going in that direction with Louis before. It was near the Astronomy Tower, perched loftily above the rest of the school building, light and airy. He made his way towards it, keeping an eye out for any Ravenclaw students who looked as though they might be in their seventh year.  
  
The first person Tom accosted was an irate-looking boy, who snapped at him that he had never heard the name, before bustling on, muttering self- importantly to the otherwise empty corridor. Nutter, Tom thought absently as he watched the boy round the corner. You certainly can find all sorts of oddballs around this madhouse, can't you?  
  
Two older girls, who were exchanging friendly jibes, and would have ignored him completely if he had not interrupted them, soon appeared from around a corner.  
  
"Excuse me, please?"  
  
The taller girl, a blonde with clever features, smiled at him. "Hello there!" The other, a redhead, who seemed to watch him with her front teeth, nodded at him in friendly acknowledgement. They watched him, waiting for his query.  
  
"Er. hello. Could you tell me, please, where. either Felicity Gilbert or Something-or-other Vida is?"  
  
To his surprise, both girls started to giggle. "Something-or-other Vida? You must mean Luke Vida!" The redhead grinned at him.  
  
"Yes. I think so," Tom said stolidly.  
  
"Merry!" She turned to her friend, ignoring Tom, much to his great annoyance. "Ain't he that rather fetching Beater?" They started to giggle again.  
  
"Rather!" The blonde girl called Merry turned back to Tom. "Why, what do you want with him, kid?" She seemed to want a reason why she should share confidential information with him. Honestly, Tom thought, rolling his eyes inconspicuously.  
  
"I need to ask him some things. That's all." That's all, because it is absolutely none of your business, you nosy witch. He regarded the two stonily. This fact, however, either didn't occur to them, or they frankly didn't care.  
  
"Of course you do. Why do I ask?" The other girl mocked him. "But, tragic as it is, the name Felicity Gilbert fails to ring even a distant bell."  
  
"Yeah, you know her, Rach!" Merry butted in, shaking her head in exasperation. "That girl with the curly hair! The sixth year, with brown, curly hair, about as tall as me? The one who plays Keeper for us, that's always throwing herself at Luke--"  
  
"Oh, you mean Fij!"  
  
"Who else would he mean, you silly bint?"  
  
"I don't know; I don't think of her as a Felicity. It doesn't suit her."  
  
"Well, suit her or not, you ought to know--"  
  
"Yes, well, anyway," Tom interrupted desperately, lest the two girls should get completely side-tracked and continue in this way all day, "Can you tell me where to find either of them?"  
  
"Of course." Merry smiled at him and flipped her hair in a manner that suggested that any girl worth her cosmetics would have the Vida boy's exact location pinpointed at any given moment.  
  
Tom hesitated for a moment, waiting for information that didn't seem to be coming. Merry grinned, waiting. She seemed to be baiting him. "Where, then?" Tom finally resorted to asking, after a very long hesitation.  
  
"Quidditch pitch, naturally!" Merry giggled at Tom's foolish question. "Practising, I suppose; really, you don't get so amazingly amazing by sitting around in your common room!" The two girls sighed in unison, and Rachel had melodramatically lifted her hand to her cheek.  
  
"Of course." Tom resisted the temptation to lapse into total sarcasm, deciding that maybe not all Ravenclaws were as clever as they made out. "Thank you." .for nothing, you vapid little girls he added mentally.  
  
"No problemo, mate."  
  
"You know where the Quidditch pitch is, do you?" Merry smiled at him, somewhat hopefully.  
  
"Yes." Tom said, only half- truthfully. He'd only been there once, but he had a feeling that the large sports ground couldn't be too hard to find again, even on his own. And having one of these twits leading him there was not something he fancied.  
  
"Pity." The two girls exchanged amused glances.  
  
"There're no spaces on the team for anyone, in case you're wondering, by the way," Rachel informed him, giving him a bemused look. "Especially not for a ickle Slytherin firstie."  
  
"I'd kind of worked that out for myself, thank you." Tom rolled his eyes.  
  
"Well, okay then. Be seeing you, mate," Rachel waved him off.  
  
"G'd luck with Luke. I just hope you don't get lost. It's easy to get lost when you don't know your way around. I remember I got lost once. Theo Green helped me find my way. He's such a darling." Merry grinned dreamily, probably imagining herself being guided by this Theo Green.  
  
"Must be going now," Rachel reminded Merry, shaking her out of the stupor.  
  
"Yep. Mustn't keep anyone waiting! Now, Rach, I heard James Prentice and Aidan Resner are going to be in the Entrance Hall in about fifteen minutes.if we get there early we might be able to--"  
  
The two girls ducked off, presumably off to reapply their lip-gloss and assume their positions behind statues, lurking in ambush for the next attractive bloke who happened by. They were inexcusably mindless and irritating, Tom felt, and he was left with the overwhelming feeling that he needed to go and bang his head against a wall. Most likely, many times over.  
  
Gathering up what patience he had left, Tom retraced his steps to the Entrance Hall. This took him quite a bit longer than it should have, as he had taken the wrong staircase and found himself at the base of the Divination tower. After begging information from a portrait (and listening to a long lecture on the importance of being aware of your surroundings) of an aged and slightly mad-looking Auror, he had resumed his trek.  
  
When Tom finally reached the outdoors, faint shouts and shrieks echoed from his left, from the Pitch.  
  
Retracting his hands back into the warm confines of his school robes, he began wishing he had remembered his cloak. As much as he longed for the thick wool, traipsing back to the dungeons and chancing torment in the common room was far more trouble than the cloak was worth.  
  
As he peeked around the wood-and-canvas entrance frame, a chorus of oohs and aahs drifted down from the stands above him. Glancing up, he saw that two dozen or so spectators, mostly of the female variety, occupied the bleachers, all houses and most years apparently accounted for.  
  
It was obviously an unofficial practice; not only were there a few Ravenclaws on brooms, three Hufflepuffs zoomed about, tossing the quaffle back and forth, and a single Gryffindor girl was performing dives, drawing gasps and murmurs of awe. There were no Slytherin players in sight.  
  
When Tom took a seat, a gaggle of girls in front of him were whispering in what they must have thought were conspiratorial tones. The conversation seemed to be exclusively devoted to Quidditch, rather unsurprisingly.  
  
"Can you believe those girls? It's so unladylike!" a freckle-faced Ravenclaw said to her neighbour, her voice ranging between a whine and a whisper. "And they're not even that good. Everyone knows the good girls don't play rough, dangerous sports. And yet they're the only ones he'll even look at, much less talk to. Felicity Gilbert especially. She's not even pretty! At least the other girl players are a bit cute. Why is she so chummy with Luke? It isn't fair!" she wailed.  
  
"Mmm," her seatmate, a pretty girl with auburn hair and, apparently, zero interest in Quidditch, agreed congenially, her eyes never leaving a hefty- looking textbook that lay open on her lap. Tom shared her feelings, and found himself trying to peek over her shoulder. Whatever book she held, it had to be exponentially more interesting that listening to a teenage girl wail on about the unfairness of life and love.  
  
Some of the others, however, didn't share her sentiment.  
  
"They're so lucky!" a skinny Hufflepuff with dirty blonde hair and bony knees murmured, her voice laced with jealousy. "I wish I could play Quidditch. My mum and dad won't sign the consent form, though. I think it's positively stupid that girls have to have parental permission, but the boys can do whatever they please. Where's the justice in that?"  
  
Most of the other girls' conversations were observations about the boys. Luke Vida was, by far, the most popular player on the pitch, if the sighing, smiling, giggling, and pointing whenever he passed were anything to go by.  
  
"Excuse me," Tom tapped the freckly Ravenclaw on the shoulder. She seemed to be the best bet, as she had mentioned both Felicity and Luke, so she apparently knew who they were.  
  
"Yes?" she said, twisting around to see him.  
  
"Which players are Luke Vida and Felicity Gilbert? I need to talk to them, but I don't know what they look like."  
  
"Oh, that's easy." She squinted at the players, shielding her eyes from the bright morning sun with her hand. "See the boy with dark hair? He's tall, very well built, and he looks a bit exotic." She paused and giggled nervously. "He's the only Ravenclaw holding a bat," she added, pointing. Tom followed her finger and made a mental note.  
  
"And Felicity Gilbert," she muttered, dislike injected into her words. "Her. Long curly brown hair. She's chatting with Elspeth MacPherson, the Gryffindor Seeker. Near the goals. That's Gilbert." She carelessly waved her hand to where a tall brunette and a tiny black-haired girl in scarlet robes hovered at the far end of the pitch, apparently having an entertaining conversation, as they both started howling at some unknown joke between the two of them, their laughter carrying faintly into the stands.  
  
"Right. Thank you."  
  
"You're welcome." Freckles turned back around and resumed her conversation with her friend, who was still nodding agreeably whenever the freckly girl paused, waiting for some type of affirmation.  
  
Tom stood up and returned to the entrance gate, waiting for one of his targets to leave the pitch.  
  
Nearly two hours later, when Tom was seriously considering giving up for the day and going back inside, a group of approximately five people walked past him, chattering and laughing animatedly. A number of the girls from the stand followed behind, woefully trying to look as if they were doing anything and everything but stare adoringly into the group of Quidditch players in front of them.  
  
Tom immediately recognised Luke in the centre, his height making him really hard to miss. Shaking off his chill-induced stupor, he stumbled after them, trying to worm his way into the mass.  
  
"L-Luke! Luke Vida!" he stammered, trying to shove his way in between two Hufflepuffs. The crowd stopped, and Luke pushed his way through the others until he was standing in front of Tom. Luke looked down at him, a bemused expression on his face.  
  
"Yeah? What is it, er--"  
  
"T-Tom. T-Tom R-Rid-Riddle," Tom managed to get out between chattering teeth. For some reason, he felt incredibly cold all of a sudden.  
  
"Oh--oh, you poor dear! You're freezing. Luke, how can you just stand there? The poor child is nearly blue!" a high female voice came from behind the two Hufflepuff boys. The Gryffindor girl, the one who had been laughing with Felicity, came hurrying up next to him. She quickly pulled off her scarlet Quidditch robes and wrapped him in it.  
  
Tom pulled the body-warmed robes around him tighter, nodding gratefully at the tiny girl who stood scant centimetres above him. "Are you all right? You look absolutely terrible, not to be mean. How long have you been out here, kid?" She smiled at him gently, and Tom was beginning to think that not it was not all Gryffindors signed pacts with Satan upon their Sorting into said House.  
  
"Erm--" Tom was loath to admit he'd been waiting around for nearly two hours in the cold, without his cloak. He'd mentally formed the sentence, and immediately discarded it because it sounded completely idiotic. "Not that long," he said vaguely, "and I'm fine. Thanks for this--" he indicated the cloak.  
  
"Oh, not a problem. And, is there anything else we can help you with? You were looking for Luke?" She cast a suspicious glance back towards Luke, who was looking somewhat sheepish. "What can he do for you, er-Tom." She smiled brightly at him. "Oh, by the way, my name's Elspeth. MacPherson, if you're wondering, but just call me Ella, and that's Daniel Spade, and Christopher Tallmadge," she indicated the two Hufflepuff boys, who were smiling at her admiringly. They waved obligingly at Tom when Elspeth said their names, "And this," she tossed her head back to indicate Felicity, "is Felicity Gilbert, but everyone calls her Fij. And I suppose you know Luke," she finished.  
  
"Right, Ella, lovely work." Luke said, picking up her hand. Elspeth looked up at him (quite a height difference there, Tom thought absently. From where she stood, Elspeth had an unrivalled view of Luke's stomach) and raised her eyebrows slightly.  
  
Tom stole a look at Felicity, who seemed to be having an avid staring contest with Luke and Elspeth's joined hands. She looked none too happy about it.  
  
Elspeth surreptitiously extracted her hand from Luke's. Luke looked down at her, and they seemed to carry on a silent dialogue over the next few seconds. Elspeth nodded over towards Tom, who voicelessly rejoiced.  
  
"So, er, Tom, what can I do for you?" he asked awkwardly.  
  
"Well, erm--" Tom considered for a moment, "My mum used to have an old school friend, named Mariah Vida. I was wondering if she's your relative, and, if she is, I'd like to know how to contact her."  
  
Wow, that was much easier than I imagined. And I didn't even have to mention the fact that my mum is dead.  
  
"Mariah--yep, that's my older sister. Here I'll give you her name and address. Does anyone have a quill and some parchment?" He asked, after turning out his pockets. He looked around at the other players, who all shrugged.  
  
"Sorry, mate," Christopher said, indicating his lack of a school bag.  
  
"I don't have one," Daniel added in.  
  
"I don't, either," Felicity said cuttingly, obviously still sore about Luke's advances on Elspeth.  
  
There was an excited twittering from the group of girls who had stopped a little behind them. Tom watched interestedly as a small scuffle broke out over a quill and a scrap of parchment that one of the girls had 'liberated' from the book sack belonging to the auburn-haired girl Tom had noticed in the stand. After a few seconds, the victor, a large, frowsy-haired brunette with a number of rather obvious spots, approached the players and shyly handed the writing tools to Luke.  
  
"Thanks," he said quickly, as he took the quill and parchment and began to scribble something down. The girl frowned; obviously this was not her idea of adequate thanks. She returned to the group, greeted by the auburn-haired girl's hiss of "But what about my quill?!"  
  
When Luke had finished writing, he held the quill out. The redhead scowled at the others before stolidly marching up to retrieve it. Luke handed off the quill indifferently, but immediately snapped his head back up when he caught sight of her. She was, apparently, more worthy of his attention than the brunette.  
  
"Thanks," he said again, smiling in a way that seemed to set the girls behind into a twitter. "Er, Charlotte, isn't it? You're Fifth Year, right?"  
  
"Pfft," Charlotte dismissed him, rolling her eyes. She turned on her heel and sauntered back to her friends, who were glowering enviously. Tom resisted the urge to cheer her on. Charlotte seemed to be much more intelligent than the others.  
  
"Well, anyway, here you are, Tommy." Tom winced at the name. God, he hated it when people called him that.  
  
Tom glanced down at the piece of paper. Well, useless or not, Luke had given Tom what he wanted.  
  
"Well, if that's all you'll be needing.?" Luke trailed off.  
  
"Yeah, that's it," Tom said curtly.  
  
"Must be going then," Luke said airily, draping his arm around Elspeth, who made no move to shrug him off, although she did roll her eyes and smile lightly at Tom.  
  
"Oh, you'll be wanting this--" Tom moved to extract himself from Elspeth's bright Quidditch robes.  
  
"Oh, no, it's fine. Just leave them on the floor in your dorm; the house elves will get them back to me." She smiled. "See you around, kid."  
  
As they moved off back towards the castle, Tom got his first chance to read over the note.  
  
Mariah Black  
  
12 Grimmauld Place  
  
London 


End file.
